PART 25

Fall is about to hit and none of us are prepared for it. It starts at the beaches of Montauk. They are beginning to fill up with orange pebbles that never look the same once you take them out of the water. And all those sandy dogs that roam with a hint of mischievous danger will be swallowed by the dunes. Eventually, boards will cover windows and local fishermen will breath easy at the sight of empty streets. They won’t have to pretend to be in a Hemingway novel. They simply will be. The season will creep like a maroon fog into the great city nearby. And everyone across the nation will suddenly realize that it hit and we’ll be speechless for a little moment. It will be like Orson Wells proclaiming an alien invasion over the radio, but with less shrills and more comfortable sighs. And those of us in Tennessee will, once again, hold the responsibility of watching one of the most beautiful mountainside deaths known to man. We will sit under trees as they fold beneath themselves like amber diamonds rolling through a mineshaft. And everyone that isn’t here will not quite understand and we will be far too content to try and explain it. If they press the issue just say something like, “It’s like being surrounded by a holy fire.” And then leave it at that.