Fall is a great time to visit or just generally exist here in Arkansas. We’ve gotten over five inches of rain within the last two weeks and all that water has made for some brilliant color on the trees. It’s a lot different from last fall, when it was so dry that the leaves practically turned brown and burned off before all the oranges and reds and yellows could make their full-on appearance.
We also have pumpkins.

This revelation probably seems less than remarkable to you. Then again, it doesn’t really matter what you think, now does it? Not since this is my blog and I can talk about pumpkins anytime I want.
Sorry. Didn’t mean to get short with you there.
Point is, we have them here and I quite like them. My family doesn’t celebrate Halloween, but I still made my dad buy me one for ornamental front porch purposes. Albeit the darn thing ended up living in the house for about the first two weeks of its life before we ever worked up the heart to kick it outside.
(Guess that’s what happens when you name things.)
Jo lives on the porch now, and I’m aware that his existence is finite due to the laws of decomposition and such, but I don’t like to think about that. The whole experience is rather like falling for a heartbreaker even though you know that he’s a heartbreaker.
If, that is, you can make the leap from pumpkins to romantic metaphors in one sentence.
*Cue Carrie Underwood’s “Cowboy Casanova”.*














