I love to watch leaves take on their fall colors. I'll bet you do too. Our fascination with discolored leaves is funny in a way. We look at the reds and oranges and admire God's beautiful work, but all those colorful leaves are actually on their deathbeds. They're just crusty corpses about to bite the dust. That's rich irony, isn't it? We humans love beauty regardless of the underlying horror required to create that beauty. If you don't believe me, drop by a hair salon at 3 p.m. on Friday and you'll have no doubt, assuming you can see beauty under the tinfoil, curlers and goo.
I have yet to see the turning of the leaves this year. Someone said that all the rain has delayed the colors. In other words, the life-giving rain has delayed Death. Well, that makes me furious. Die, you leaves! Die now! Don't you know your entire existence is for my entertainment?
I may miss the leaves this year, but I won't miss my college football. Now, there's another irony. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm not a sports fan. I tried out for basketball in the eighth grade, and while I was pretty good, I wasn't good enough. I was just not cut out to be a jock. However, I do like college football and I especially like that it's held in fall. I love to go to a stadium on a brisk day and watch a bunch of jocks knock the stuffing out of each other. That kind of thing is highly therapeutic for me, healing wounds that date back to middle school. And, if I squint just right, a good pile-on tackle looks like a bunch of colorful leaves, falling to the ground in a big heap. A pile of football players may have to replace a pile of falling leaves this year. That sounds like a good substitute for the real thing, but I'm pretty sure leaves don't cuss when they hit the ground.
David McCoy, a notorious storyteller and proud Yellow Jacket, lives in Conyers. He can be reached at davmccoy@bellsouth.net.
