What with the youth scammpering hither and yon on the Golf Cart, polos flailing in the wind, and the crisp budding fruit of paradise condensing on every branch, I feel the need to thank the harvest season. I think it is time to honor reprodcution.
Glory be people! Here's to the pistol and the stamen. While we, as a culture, spend so much time trying to disect why unrequitted lovers only hear what they want, (i.e. "I don't like you. I can't imagine ever wanting to date you because you are an emotionally unsound and grating person. Not now, not ever, you offend the very fabric of my soul." which translates to "...not today goreous, I'm too hot for you this moment to form the word yes like I want to...") or gripping about failied attempts to fly and scorned hearts, lets face it... the fruits of labor are well worth it. (Right? I myself have never been in labor but I've seen it. Oh god have I seen it...)
This is my tribute to passion, to polenation, to fruit hanging full bodied from the branch!
Let us drink a warm toast to that sweet friend Autum, who's auburn hair frames Her swollen belly, and who's fragrant pumpkin spice reminds us of that now is the time to rejoice in what we've accomplished. The great fanfare and exulltation before that hard bitten neighbor Winter bangs on the wall and tells us to keep it down. After toiling in the soil and the sun, laboring in the dry heat of Summer we can now, in good conscious, spice the wine, heat the mead, pour the vodka, and give thanks to the great miracle of existence.
So my friends, pluck the fruit of the vine, savor the rich and vibrant flavors that ride full force on crisp winds, pull fragrant lovers in close and give a ruckous thanks to the bees, to the birds, to the stout fruti bearing trees of the sweet sugared empire, raise your glass of applejack to the muses of propogation.
Glory.
1 comment:
More, more!
Post a Comment