The weirdest part about taking a walk in the fall, at least in the northeast here, is the variance of the sun and the shade.

I take the step off the front porch and, one block out, where the steepest short hill is, the air’s got a chill but the sun does its thing. It’s mid-60s, yet any cold I felt on the porch has now been warmed up to comfortable as my heartrate picks up. The sun is out and I’m moving. I’m feeling good.

I round the corner and start working my way up a more gradual climb that now puts me in direct sunlight. Straight down over me. It might as well be summertime. I’m sweating and adjusting layers. It’s like it’s 90 degrees out by the time I’m getting near the cemetery loop at the top.

The perimeter of the cemetery is under trees. The trees make for an unexpected canopy, and in the fall, the colors and scattered light make it look like somebody should do a photo shoot here. I don’t mean the town council, who always seems to be posed in front of the building where they store the salt and sand.

I mean, like, an indie band? Or a goth group? They could pull it off and even drop the cemetery in the corner of the frame. A metal band could make an album cover out of this, especially at night.

These are the thoughts I have at the start of the loop, under all that shade because my brain has to work this hard. It’s incredible how fast you go from “Oh I’m hot” to “Oh this feels better” to “Sweet Christ I am freeeeeeezing.”

It’s seriously gotta be 40 degrees under there. And there’s nowhere to put my hands? I wish I had my gloves. Pockets will work enough, but I also need the tissue because my nose is running, so the hands keep coming back out. Good thing I always have one. “Allergies.” The genetic gift that keeps on giving.

The whole walk goes like this. It’s like I experience every season every 50 yards or so. But I love it. Season-defying sniffles and all.

I walk when it’s all hot in the summer. I walk when it’s all cold in the winter. I walk when it doesn’t know how hot or cold to stay.

I walk. I think. I talk to myself.

I decide that “What the f*** + oh well” isn’t such a bad mantra. And then I walk some more.