Captainkirk
Old School Mopar Warrior
"Gee, Cap"....(I can hear you sayin')....."Fall off the ends of the earth"?
Well, ummmm....in a manor of speaking...now that you ask...sorta.
There I was, sailing along with a stiff wind in face and in my sails, when I felt the wind start to falter, and my ship slow, and then....
Silence. Dead calm.
Perhaps it was the slight turning of the leaves, the shortening of daylight and the early long shadows; the soft, warm yellow sunlight low in the sky much too early in the evening and the brisk chill in the early morning hours. The restless stirring in my soul and the whispering mumbles telling me hunting season is near; time to dust off the gun and the bow.
Don't be disappointed, fair readers; I'm not. See, I knew this would happen. It always does. That's why I planned the assault that never was; because I could feel the progress of summer was about played out, hanging by a frayed thread. You resist it, fight it, deny it, then...accept it. That's a part of life here in the midwest. You rake your leaves, clear your gutters, tuck the motorcycles in for their long winter hibernation, like a family of bears nestled snug in their den, then hunker down for the chill of late fall and winter. Those of us not endowed with heated garages or workshops, that is!
But that's not all bad! Winter is a time for reflection; to sit with a glass of brandy by the fire and look at your progress via digital photos, shocking progress when compared to last year's photos; plot your next move, and perhaps even change or reverse course! A time for rekindling friendships on the FABO forum, spinning a yarn or two, and just plain reflecting. Winter is a cold, desolate place in my garage in January. A place I don't frequent too often.
We get used to it around here. And frankly, I could use a little relaxation; it was a hell of a summer! And I have an inkling next summer will be better yet!
So stick with me, if you've a mind to. I feel a spell of writing coming on...
Well, ummmm....in a manor of speaking...now that you ask...sorta.
There I was, sailing along with a stiff wind in face and in my sails, when I felt the wind start to falter, and my ship slow, and then....
Silence. Dead calm.
Perhaps it was the slight turning of the leaves, the shortening of daylight and the early long shadows; the soft, warm yellow sunlight low in the sky much too early in the evening and the brisk chill in the early morning hours. The restless stirring in my soul and the whispering mumbles telling me hunting season is near; time to dust off the gun and the bow.
Don't be disappointed, fair readers; I'm not. See, I knew this would happen. It always does. That's why I planned the assault that never was; because I could feel the progress of summer was about played out, hanging by a frayed thread. You resist it, fight it, deny it, then...accept it. That's a part of life here in the midwest. You rake your leaves, clear your gutters, tuck the motorcycles in for their long winter hibernation, like a family of bears nestled snug in their den, then hunker down for the chill of late fall and winter. Those of us not endowed with heated garages or workshops, that is!
But that's not all bad! Winter is a time for reflection; to sit with a glass of brandy by the fire and look at your progress via digital photos, shocking progress when compared to last year's photos; plot your next move, and perhaps even change or reverse course! A time for rekindling friendships on the FABO forum, spinning a yarn or two, and just plain reflecting. Winter is a cold, desolate place in my garage in January. A place I don't frequent too often.
We get used to it around here. And frankly, I could use a little relaxation; it was a hell of a summer! And I have an inkling next summer will be better yet!
So stick with me, if you've a mind to. I feel a spell of writing coming on...
