When October goes

It took me awhile, but I have learned to love October.

I don't much care for fall. Oh, some of it. I love football. Falling leaves.

But autumn means winter awaits -- that bleak, gray season when, in these parts anyway, the sky won't snow and the sun won't shine. You know the song. It's hard to tell the night time from the day.

October is an aberration. Warm afternoons and cool nights. No HVAC. Go Vols. Sam Adams seasonal, out of this world.

I was too sick to celebrate the passing of the 10th month this year. So I watched UT on the tube while lying on the couch. And I contemplated the turn into November.

Missing this October were the plethora of picture-perfect afternoons, azure and awesome. Their replacements were depressing rain, too much and too often in too much monochrome, usually ruining a weekend. But those we were given were ones to savor, much like this too-short month itself.

I will remember the crisp Friday afternoon I saw elk running wild in the Smokies. I will remember the Wednesday of wonders when I talked with an old friend I'd never met. I will remember the cold Saturday in the park when the harmony blended together.

And tonight, as thoughts pass to the stifling commercialization of the coming holiday blitz, I'll hum a line or two from Johnny Mercer.

Because I, too, hate to see October go.