Feeling Mighty Existential

It is a wet November day here in Vancouver. One in a series of wet November days which now stretch ahead of us until, say, December 1. Then the wet days of December shall begin. After that, well who knows what will come after, but I'll bet those days will have a high moisture content as well. It is haiku weather.

As I type I cast my mind back to one autumn I spent back east, driving through Eastern Canada and the US, watching miles off rolling red and golden hills unfold around me. (Yep. Rolling and unfolding. It makes no sense.) This is the apogee of the idealized autumn I have fabricated in my mind.* This in part is an abreaction to the typical Vancouver autumn. Here we have not four but two seasons: a. cold and wet; bisected by b. warm and wet. There are, to be truthful, episodes of cold and hot, but these are usually fleeting. These are as aberrant as a monk with the clap. Maybe more so.

Was that 17 syllables? Fuck me if it wasn't, but don't actually fuck me. That's just a saying. It's like I am saying "I don't care what you think, ha!" but meaning "I am painfully insecure, please let me play on your team. Pleeease?" Like that. Fuck me!

I asked two posts ago why anyone would bother posting daily for the month of November. The Cheesefairy replied. Fuck me if that wasn't a good answer. My next question about NoBloNoMo is, why not February? 30 days is way too many. I can see doing it for 28, but 30... that's sick.

I advertised a haiku, didn't I? Here it is, straight out of Hallmark's Guide to Cheesy Poems, vol 13:

the tang of dead leaves
rain battered, guttered refuse
summer's sodden end

Of course, there is a version wherein capital letters are employed.

All the leaves are brown. And
the sky's grey. California
dreaming, something, day.

I'm working on it, but I have time. You bet your wet ass it's fall! All right, where is my beret?

PMO

* Not true. We had a 5-day spell of gorgeous fall weather last week. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of dead leaves.