For the 72nd time, I am easing into the fall in New England and – I am surprised and happy to report – it still blows my socks off. Which I think is good news for the old and ridiculous generally, and for those over 40 who might become old and ridiculous in the future. I mean, you’d think you’d just get tired of it. Same old, same old for, MY GOD, 72 years. Enough already. Especially when you think that autumn is a familiar symbol for the end of life generally, Like the end of YOUR life, sweetheart. So it might seem a) boring and b) scary.
Not a bit of it. It’s as fresh and as astonishing as the day they invented girls. I still wander around in these hills, slack-jawed at the beauty of the occasional flash of red in the old, green trees. Still marvel at those oranges. How is that done? And the air, which is never better than at this time of year. Leaves turning, sap rising, air getting cooler. It is as magical as it was 60 years ago. I was amazed then and I am amazed today.
So, if you think your passion for life is going to go out the window when you turn 50 or whatever, relax. Not gonna happen. Not ever, is my guess. We’ll see.
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