It’s not an unusual thing this time of year. Call it what you will. A gooey, bluesy funk has fallen over me. I’m stuck in a melancholic muck. Too much turkey. Color overload. Winter dread. I don’t know. Just look on the brighter side! Ok that’s easy, let’s see, uh well, uh yes, uh, where did I file that?
I really don’t know where it all began, where its root lies but, it sprouts every year about this time. The leaves begin falling and so does my altitude. Yes altitude. Now, attitude can be inserted there but, certainly altitude is the first to slip. Buoyancy is lost and I find myself sinking into the blahs. It couldn’t come at a worst time of year. Grinch, Scurge, party pooper pretty much sum it up. But, does it really?
Even if there was no collective, commercially stroked, orgasmic yahoo in December, would I still be sliding down this slippery slope? And, even if the tax man didn’t dust off his shingle before the new year babe burps, would I still be stuck in this muck? I just don’t know. I don’t have the answers. It’s just a seasonal thing. But is it really?
The beauty and freshness of spring is barely sprung before the oppressive heat of a Georgia July is smothering you and soaking your fruit of the looms by noon. And then comes Autumn. Where has it gone? It must be a seasonal thing. Seasons are meant to come and go and to everything there is a season. Well that settles it. It’s definitely a seasonal thing and so, this funk too shall pass but, when? Until the last leaf flies from the black jack oak and skips across the lawn. The ground hog speaks, the crocus peeps and the robin tunes her song.
Oh good grief, you gotta be kidding.
to be continued