>It Has Falled, and It Happies Me

>While I recognize the potential erroneous grammar in the title above, I invoke the sacred ritual established by Calvin and Hobbes of "verbing" to insist that it is, in fact correct.

I quite enjoy linguistic humor, because it implies a firm grasp on the rules before a bending of them. I respect people who respect our language, as much of a mutt it is.

But I digress.

After what seems like (as it does every year) the longest spell of overbearing heat in recorded history, today I walked to class successfully without breaking a sweat, and I smelled in the air the only thing I can describe as "fall." It's your nose's equivalent to the sound of yellow and orange and brown leaves, shriveled up and dying on the concrete, crunching under your feet as you walk, and your brain interprets it the same. A mere sensory observation, a set of empirical data travelling along nerves through what I can only imagine are your body's system like the pipes that transport a check in the drive through line at the bank. I put all this stuff inside the little tube of suction and it zooms noisily to a teller on the other side who sorts and interprets what little money I have and logs it in the correct place.

Yes I just compared nerves to the sucky thingeys at the bank.

It is undeniable, however, that these sensory observations (crunching leaves, the smell of fall, etc) translate into some sort of emotion. Expectation, hope, anxiousness, relaxation, impending exams. Football. A few months until it is acceptable to build a fire and sip hot chocolate, and then eat the soggy, chocolatey marshmallows that are left over after digging them out with the end of your finger. Carving pumpkins with knives that used to be a lot sharper into what you planned to be a deviously grinning mischievous orange gourd but ended up being a big jagged hole in the side of an oblong shell spotted brown and soft from where it had inevitably been damaged in transit. Not dressing up for Halloween and instead staying inside under a blanket watching the AMC scary movie marathon with a cup of hot cider and a plate full of Hershey's chocolate to give to what will turn into 3 trick-or-treaters knocking at your door. Dusting off your tweed jacket after its long summer of dormancy.

Needless to say, I am quite jazzed about Fall. If you're as excited as I am, share your excitements with me!

If you hate fall, comment and tell me why so that I may sit in my chair and refrain from lambasting you publicly (justkiddingjustkidding).

If you, like I, think that something magical happens beyond what the leaves can show, then rejoice on, dear reader. It has falled, so happy on :)

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.