Seasons

It's fall, Y'all.  We finally have an autumn filled with golds and reds and bronzes.

Yay!

I stand in my garage with the door opened wide and watch the rain come down. Red wine in hand to accompany the chill of the season.

Garage, you say? Why am I in the garage?

I'm sneaking a smoke.

Sneaking?

Really?

It's just me and Big Daddy.  He who knows I partake of the occasional Camel Menthol Silver.

Old habits.

It's unseasonable warm.  The gray mist and sodden downpour would lead you to believe that it is cold. ...lead you to believe that what has arrived is that damp, bone-chilling cold that only comes when the Ozarks can't decide what season it is.

This lovely change in the weather made me think of you all.

I used to frequent these hallowed halls...anxious to inform you of the minutiae of my day, breathless with excitement to describe the weather in my cozy neck of the woods.

But I left.

Then I noticed everyone else left, too.  I don't mean you left my halls, although you did.  Why stop by if nobody is home?

But I noticed that you left your halls, too.

I still keep my feeds up to date.  I thrill when someone updates their blog.

But, I never comment.

Why? ...I dunno.

Maybe because I am a relic from another time.  A time when this type of forum was robust and fun and new.  I felt like a part of a community.  I felt like a dorky kid who had gotten to eat lunch at the cool kids' table.

I know I would be thrilled to hear a comment from a beloved voice of seasons past.

So I now vow, that when a favorite dusty blog on my feed resurfaces, I will comment.

I will comment just to say, "Hey!  How are you?  I have missed you so.  So glad to know all is well in your world."

I will comment because what they once said mattered to me.  It brought me joy and happiness and a sense of community.  ...it still does.

I miss you all so very much and hope you are well.

And with that...my grainy iPhone photo from the garage, or also known as Big's House of Smoke.