Eventually, I will go deep into the woods and start a new life.
I will fish in the streams and forage for nuts and berries.
I will be one with nature, and nature will be one with me.
I will commune with the animals.
I will place a blade of grass between my thumbs and make a reed like sound,
and somewhere deep in my subconscious, I will remember
the sound of an oboe playing the Gran Partita.
Birds will sing.

I will create my own language.
A language that is simple
A language that is true.
I will call my language “hoofay.”
(this is phonetic, the actual spelling involves two twigs and a squirrel carcass)
In my language, there will be no redundancies.

There will be one word
For every important concept,
No more.

“Graduate School”
and
“Sleep deprivation” will both be called:

“MisKAT’wayHIMbo”
(this is phonetic, the actual spelling involves four pounds of goat meat and a picture drawn in the sand of an old woman being eaten by a seal)

For some, fall is about leaves
     of red, yellow, and brown.
For some, fall is about hot apple cider,
     spiced with cinnamon and sweetened with caramel.
For some, fall is about scarecrows
     and pumpkins,

For me, fall is about the slow reappearance of the
     Scarf Collection adorning the necks of people
     all around me and reminding me of
     the loving warmth that surrounds me.

But for a whole lot of people,
fall is just about getting colder
     and colder and colder.
I realize it’s not the sunniest thought to share,
     but it’s the thought that I was thinking.