Fall in the Air

This morning was marked by a variety of obvious seasonal changes. Dempsey and I were greeted by cold, gray, and damp as we stepped out the door to hit the park for an early round of fetch. It is getting close to the time when leaves crunch under foot and the smell of snow hangs heavy in the early morning hours.

There is something indescribably striking about a cold, gray, quiet day where the only sounds are those of your footsteps and the occasional crow, whose caws both echo in the silence and yet are muffled at the same time. Between the smell of snow that is about to fall and faint wisps of woodsmoke, you can smell the earthy scents of spring and summer decaying. Those kinds of days are perfect for a walk in the woods.


One of my other favorite fall scents is the smell of sycamore trees. It is a very hard one to describe and probably even more difficult to capture or replicate. Next time you are near a stand of sycamores, take a big whiff and you'll know what I mean.

Speaking of falling . . . how about that world economy? While both alarming and disturbing, I still find it amusing the number of people who thought that the $700 billion bailout package would suffice to stabilize the global scene. Do people understand that our economy is sitting on trillions and trillions in debt based on money borrowed on money that was borrowed many times over? The bailout is the equivalent of filling a grocery bag full of pebbles, tossing it in a crater, and calling it good.

There was an interesting article in the WSJ last week about the "alternative" investments people turn to when the market goes south. Tonight I am headed to the public opening of the Damien Hirst exhibition at the Denver Museum of Contemporary Art. I might scrape together a couple million and get myself an animal suspended in formaldehyde or a diamond crusted, platinum skull.


I am sure all animals were treated humanely in the pickling process, but I'm sure PETA has plenty to say about Mr. Hirst . . .