Uncle Bubba woke in his hotel room on Sunday morning with the sliver of sunlight slicing through the curtains. He rolled out of bed and into his clothes and walked out the door. He was greeted by the cool fall air as he walked out to his pickup; he had one thing on his mind: fishing. It was the one thing that he could do to not think about all the other worries of the world, if only for a few hours. Under the calming glow of the autumn sun, he drove to a nearby reservoir and pulled into a small park along the shore. His vehicle was the only one there so as far as he knew, he was alone. He grabbed his fishing gear and walked to the waters edge. There was a floating dock and he looked for the often common, "No Fishing From The Dock" signs. He didn't see any so he slowly walked out on it casting a lure left and right. He watched the water for any movement, a sign of fish in the area. As he walked out onto the main area of the dock he kept casting but took some time to drink in the moment, the beauty of the sky, the changing colors of the leaves.
Then he looked down and saw, "No Fishing" painted in faded red paint on the deck. He sneered thinking, "What am I hurting?" He fished a while longer before giving up. His stomach was hinting at his lack of breakfast and he hated getting skunked but it was time to head back towards the hotel, he was looking forward to getting cleaned up and a good meal. A couple classic rock songs played on the radio as he drove and he passed a fellow weed-whacking his lawn along the edge of his driveway. The dapper dude looked like an executive type, but proud that he's the manly type that's not afraid to roll up his sleeves and do a little hard work. Perhaps it was his sweatsuit, or his radio headphones, or his protective eyewear and gloves, or his coifed hair that gave him away. Bubbie laughed to himself because he knows what hard work is. That's when he was hit with an overwhelming feeling of melancholy. He wondered to himself, "Sure, he was a long way from home but it was a beautiful fall day. It wasn't even the sad Journey song playing on the radio." In Bubbie's view it was that knowing of the coming event over the next few weeks, after the beautiful leaves have reached their peak, after the lawn mowers have been put away. It's being wrapped in a universe of nearly unspeakable beauty and knowing that it, fleeting, will end all too soon -- the declination of fall.
