The gift of clear, sharp autumn days gives me such a charge. My little ride to and from the bus is a small, private shot of life and joy that resonates throughout the day until I get another injection on the way home. Why the hell isn't everyone doing this?! I just don't get it. We crawl into our rolling boxes, blood sluggishly pooling in our stolid legs and abdomens, senses dulled, tumors growing. Ugh. I may not live longer than anyone else, but I'll be damned if I won't go down spinning and grinning and loving every screaming minute of it. Get out there, people. Life is too short, the world too wondrous and strange to waste any of it. Now, time for a cold beer.