Monday, September 29, 2014


This weekend's weather could not have been more perfect.

The skies were sunny and the humidity was low.

Fall is definitely here.

The signs are everywhere.  

The soybean fields have turned from lush green to yellowish brown. 

Sunday around noon I parked the car at Aaron's Beach and jogged four and a half miles along the road and fields pictured above.  The weather was crisp, clear and beautiful; the local nuisances of horseflies, mayflies, fiddler crabs and gnats were nowhere to be found.

Unbeknownst to me, however, the praying mantises and winged monkeys grasshoppers are in full swing these days.  They blended in very well with the pavement I was pounding (and also the soybean fields I was staring at).  The grasshoppers wait until you're just about to step on them and then leap/fly up, up and away.  There were so many of them leaping/flying forth unexpectedly that at one point I started to wonder if I ought not run with my mouth closed and breathe through my nose.

Because, as it was, if even one over-sized, blending-in-to-the-road grasshopper decided at just the right time and at just the right trajectory to fly forth as I was passing by gasping for breath on my otherwise blissful run, chances were pretty good I'd choke to death on that gigantic, winged grasshopper.

I thought long and hard about the obituary and the stories that might be told to anyone inquiring about my death.  "She was running.  It wasn't her heart.  No, it wasn't that cardiac event she often worried about while practicing for that half marathon.  No, it was a grasshopper.  She choked to death on a winged-grasshopper that flew into her mouth while she was running.  They found her in the middle of Aaron's Beach Road."

Then I thought, well, as long as I'm going to die--and odds are pretty good I'm going to at some point--it might as well be a grasshopper, because at least that would be a  humorous way to go.  No?

These thoughts on changing seasons and mortality are brought to you by the number 50, which looms over my head and is about as welcome as a winged grasshopper ready to jump down my throat.

Happy Monday.


Anonymous said...

We can't have anything like that happen to you as you run. If you ever learned baton twirling I would suggest trying to run with the baton held out in front of you, and twirl it like mad to fend off the insects....
Well, there is always the burka.

Daryl said...

ah 50 i remember it well …

ewwww to death by insect

Anonymous said...

Death by grasshopper flying in your mouth while jogging? I can see plusses and minuses:

Plus: You'd make the national news.
Minus: We'd get no more blogs from you!

No! No! It's not worth it, we'd all miss you too much. --Betsy

Julie said...

It looks wonderful. I love fall.

Meg McCormick said...

And your tombstone should say: "I TOLD YOU SO!"

Robert Julian Braxton said...

over my head which my spouse "mows" is the number 70 (born 1944)