Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Monday, September 29, 2003

That smell…

Around 6:15 this morning, the unmistakable dusty burning odor of the furnace kicking on for the first time in about seven months or so. It’s the smell of fall. Last night it got down in the mid-40s, and by this morning the house was jussssst chilly enough for the burner to click on. Of course, this was long after I had gotten out of the shower, when a nice blast of warm air would have been welcome, but as you know, I’m not one to complain.

In any event, it’s still nice to smell fall getting here. Pretty soon there’ll be leaf smoke, and that weird dead vine smell from the back of the yard, and there’s just something otherworldly about the smell of hickory smoke on a cold day. Barbecue joints (of which there are legion around here) smell good anytime, but there is just something about that smell when it’s cold and clear outside that makes it all okay.

And, fall is also nice because the goldenrod is blooming again. (Goldenrod gets a bad rap from allergy sufferers, but it’s really ragweed that’s doing that to you—so enjoy the goldenrod.) Alabama used to be called the Goldenrod State before some guys from the Men’s Camellia Club in Greenville got all miffed and got the Legislature to change state flowers in 1959. (“Men’s Camellia Club”…sheesh.)

Anyway, nothing like driving by a big field of yellow this time of year, with a bit of a nip in the air, and hickory smoke.

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