It's cold now, I guess, but I'm not shutting the windows.

I grew up in a home my father built with his own hands. With plenty of glass door windows on seven out of it's eight sides, sitting indoors reading a book on the couch was undifferentiated from reading a book outdoors on the porch swing in this house.

As soon as the weather got warm enough to shut off the furnace in spring, the windows would open and they would not close until the furnace fire was lit again. Even then, the windows might have remained open had we not cared about wasting electricity.

Which of course we do.

So ... I'm riding through my first full-season autumn in Hollywood and you know, I totally judged SoCal autumn, calling it wanna-be, comparing it to sugar maples turning every shade of sunshine and soil, and then falling to the ground in a final flamboyant display of creativity in say; real autumn-havin' locations.

Oh, Midwest maples are too brave for their own decoration. Naughty, nekkid maples.

But comparing the two is like a mom actually answering her son when he asks whom she loves more - him or his sister. Because both are pretty, girls, and honeysuckle just erupted in Silverlake - roses are near-wild near the Larchmont mansions. Angel's Trumpet and lemon trees are looking good in the 'Wood. And the heftier fruits such as Ju Ju Bees, figs, apples, grapes, persimmons and pomegranates beautify the local farmer's stands. Yes, this is autumn, too, and there is no other autumn like it.

The sun is still warm during the day, but the wind is cold. And it moves quite a bit faster and with voice, across my meditating form stretched across the floor rug, still refusing to shut those windows even at nite when I have to admit; it's probably too cold.

For what? For something. I forgot what for, so ... then wind moves across my floor-rug-stretched October cadaver meditating on how nicely this relent is sitting in. Intuitively I feel like relaxing. The push is over. And now I reap what I've sown, ride the two coasting wheelz, and sentiment over how unpredictably went this year and what a notable push it was. I guess it doesn't matter what part of the country I am in in autumn. I get to feel this way even in Southern Killa California.

If I only live 120 years, I'll only ever see 120 autumns. I'm not missing this one. If these windows weren't wide open, I'd be outdoors anyway.

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