I know I'm supposed to be admiring the colors of the leaves and looking forward to holidays and all that, but I hate fall.
Those leaves aren't just changing colors---they're DYING. Fall is the death of crickets and locusts screaming all night, adventurous toads slamming into the side of my tent, and wind that feels like sticking my head in the oven. It's the impending death of my already scarce inspiration and moments of optimism, and the sure death of my warm and functioning fingers.
A mean cold is gonna sweep through and take all the fragile things like butterflies and warm breezes and grandmas.
Hey, let's go look at the changing leaves and then have hot chocolate and build a fire! Nah, I'd rather be kicked in the neck.