fall leaves fall

Counting down the hours until MJS and I head out for our Fall Break Road Trip^TM. Su-wheet! I heart everything about FBRTs... headlights, crisp nights, changing leaves, singing too loud and off-key over the engine-wind-hum, junk food from convenience marts, dotted yellow lines, amusing Midwestern signage... We are hitting up Madison and Milwaukee for a 4-day weekend filled with old college friends (from the Mawr and Mizzou, respectively), microbreweries, urban exploring, farmers' markets, coffee fixes, hiking/camping, cheese, an indie rock show, and whatever other trouble we can get ourselves into.

Thinking about this trip reminds me of when I visited Ms. Nola in NH during the fall of 2001. We bought and cooked delicious food from the Dartmouth co-op and a tiny farmers' market across the river in Vermont- I still think that was the best goat cheese I ever had. We made a trip to the Ben and Jerry's factory to take the tour, encouraged each others' window shopping, took pictures in the leaves on the quad and watched undergrads running around burning pyres. Such a great time. I look back at photos of that trip (taken on my old school SLR, which I am bringing with me to document this weekend, hooray!) and I think of how happy fall makes me feel. Warm colors, coziness, harvest, good friends, and sucking in every moment of sunlight and life as it will too soon be winter and bleak... Fall is contentment. I don't think I could ask for anything else at the moment to inspire me more.

Travelling, A Eulogy

After the Second World War
William A. Colman returned
To his mother's old Victorian
On South Union Street
In his hometown of Burlington, Vermont,
Without much parade or fanfare.

William spent his days
Training to be a boxer,
A pastime that kept his mind
Off distant French shores.
Hours at the local YMCA
Hoping to catch the eye
Of some mustachioed promoter
Up from Boston, Mass.
Or maybe an exotic Quebecois.

Tucked in a pocket of his trunks
Was his brown leather wallet,
A gift from his mother
Before he crossed the Atlantic.
She had always been fierce,
With ties to Mohawk Indians and
Green Mountain Boys.
And had offered reassurance that
The ancient design on the cover:
A swirl, a knot, black and
Gold and pine, all etched
Would bring him luck or protection.
William didn't care which.

Time does not remember
William A. Coleman as a fighter
In neither trunks nor fatigues.
He is only survived by
A wallet, faded and cracked
In a roadside antique store
Thirty miles south…

For a small souvenir
Of my New England travels,
I paid ten dollars
To glimpse the story within
A yellowed ID card
And his expired Y pass.

ABW
October 2001