With all the pumpkin talk recently, it got me remincing about years past, and since I got nothing inspiring or insightful to say today (I had brilliant thoughts last night, but the sleep gremlins seemed to have muched them in the middle of the night), I am going to tell a story, a memory plucked from the past. I even have pictures. A good story isn’t complete without pictures.
The tale begins on a clear October day, a few years ago. The sun was shining and fluffy clouds scudded across an azure sky. The leaves were exploding in a riot of color, and in a fit of brilliant insanity (the two generally go hand in hand, do they not?), my friend Mary and I decided to paint pumpkins. One thing led to another, and admist fit of giggles, we had decided we were going to give these beautiful works of art to our friends and family. A la ding-dong doorbell ditch.
Gleeful of our plans, we headed off to the local farm, picked our pumpkins, and brought them back to my apartment. A few hours later, we had our masterpieces and doodles whimiscal flights of fancy completed. We were ready to brave the night.
I was the driver, Mary the runner. The night was clear, the air laced with the scent of dead leaves and only a hint of oncoming frost, as drove to our destinations. During our escapades, we outraced dogs, tripped over lawn gnomes, and braved dark, winding paths to bring these autumnal delights to our friends and family.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
Does anyone have any fall memories they want to share?