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Fall—Autumn—whatever you call it. I call it my favorite time of the year. It means long nights of peaceful slumber, unencumbered by fans, sweat, and frustration. It means the short countdown (hopefully) till snow covers the rocks on the mountain and the skis take up permanent residence in or on my car. It means oven-baked roasts and sweets. And it means the delightful shift from tired green leaves to the brilliant display of blushing and blond leaves. It means lovely walks in the warm glow of those blushing blond leaves, shuffling through the crisp blanket of blushing, blonde leaves that have lost their grip and drifted groundward.

Don’t be fooled . . .

And today that walk lead me to do a little fishing in my own odd way.

I’ve got my eye on you.