from the trees. As I sit on my deck
one conks me on the head. All I smell

is nuttiness. All I hear is plop, kerplop, crack
hip-scotch. The planks turn into an acorn

carpet, that make me trip when I try to walk
it. The little critters roll under my feet

as if I have skates. And it makes me look like
a drunk in my sleep when I try to get

across it. Now I understand why they call this
season the fall. But I’ll take it anytime over the snow.