The days seem to slip by quickly. No two days are the same, but the week and the weekend seem to meld into one. Working and playing when needed, I find myself looking back on a week and wondering where it went, like a misplaced glove. And like a misplaced glove, I know exactly where it went, time that is. It just went. Work. Movies. Eating. Sleeping. Love. DJing. Friends. io. Photos. Music. Internet. Projects and projects and projects. Thinking about what happens next. Past this week and past the next. Thinking about next month and December and next year. Thinking and organizing this thing that i can quite grasp. This thing called Time.

And time brings us to Autumn. An amazing time of year in California. And although time seems to be marching forth beat by beat, autumn seemed so long ago last year. So much has happened since that Autumn. And here it is again. The everyday heat and fog dance of Summer is now dashed by the blowing winds that bring Winter. Leaves stir about and the land opens up in hopes of rain. Houses fill with the savory smells of spices and pies. Ovens fill with roasts and thick, hearty vegetables fill our bellies. All in preparation for winter. The trees lose mass as we gain it. And we're not the only ones. io, now five, will grow out his thick winter coat. And crows will pick over old crops as squirrels pack away acorns.

I remember the Autumns of my childhood in Stinson Beach. For the most part Stinson had an omni-season of fog, but Spring and Autumn would produced the clearest of seasons (sandwiched by a warm foggy Summer and a cold foggy Winter). Autumn would keep the fog at bay and the Sun would shine, but the air would have a chill. On the weekends, Sean and I would trudge through the forest picking up buckeyes to toss. Watching the dark seas on stormy nights from the warmth of the den. And Ozzie, nightly, coming in from the cold to sleep in the crook of my arm.

Yet, when I think of Autumn, I think of Fall in Sebastopol. The great harvest. The smell of apples beginning to rot would fill the air. Persimmon trees lose their leaves exposing the ripe fruits, which were to be ravaged by murders of crows. The last of the grapes were picked and crushed. People seemed marry, even more so than the Holidays. But Autumn wouldn't come without its tricks. October is one of the best months for play. I remember setting up the ghost with Robert and Skot, which was a sheet over a tripod of twigs, in the middle of the road to see how approaching cars would react. There was the infamous driveby pumpkin toss, where one, in the passenger seat of a moving vehicle, attempts to lob a pumpkin at a passing telephone pole in hopes of obliterating the orange squash. The glory.

And all this talk of Autumn. But before Autumn is through, I will return to Spring for a quick hello by journeying to South America for three weeks. A new country, a new contentment and a new hemisphere all in one fare flight. It will be nice to see Spring in a far land. It probably wont be all that different from here. The trees will be brilliant green and new life will be pushing up form the ground, but I will be happy to return to Autumn after my travels. Just in time for our nation's largest culinary holiday.

So as a farewell, enjoy this time of winds and change. Reap the harvest and fire up the hearth. Bundle up with loved ones and smell the earth on the air. It's time for pie.