Rain falls, snow falls, leaves fall. Rain falls on us and we get wet. Snow falls on us and when it's melted, we are wet. I can't recall a time in the fall, or any season, when a leaf has fallen on me. Tomorrow I'm going to walk in the woods to the center of an old sugar bush and stand still, until, I feel leaves falling on me, and I won't leave until a leaf falls on me and stays on me, and then I'll leave and try and walk steady so that the leaf doesn't fall the rest of the way to the ground, and if I make it all the way home with the leaf on me, I'm going to iron it between two pieces of wax paper and give it to my friend Pete and call it, "The leaf I saved for Pete to peep."
Leaves, you are beautiful, but you are some shrewd veiny business-minded sons a guns, too, you are. By just being yourself you cause a helluva ruckus every fall, but you earn us one helluva lot of money. I never really thought of it leaves, but, hey - you're a bunch of Republicans aren't you?
So, it's bye, bye 'til next year leaves. Thanks. I feel that you're a gazillion badillion things that we for the most part - not counting three weeks during the fall - take for granted, at least to the point in which we don't write and praise you nearly enough.
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act "The Logger." His column appears weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Listen for The Logger, Rusty DeWees, Thursdays at 7:40 on the Big Station, 98.9 WOKO or visit his website at www.thelogger.com