‘Tis crisper, cooler, brisker, sharper,

Like a bite from a chilled, candied apple.

The wind and weather now zip through the trees.

Shaking loose leaves of orange, red and gold,

Leaving mere bones and fingers of bark and birch.

Dark Italian roasts, mulled spider ciders and spiced pumpkin lattes,

Perfect complements to all the season’s feasts.

Families are amassing, friends are warming near,

Enveloped and embraced by a fete’s baking, cooking and cocktails,

All warm and sugared comforts, certain to please.

Cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, coffee and wine,

The smells of the season lead us home year after year.

Bringing the best of autumn together, the best of family and friends,

The very best of everything, the very best of us on this Thanksgiving Day.

Happy Tofurkey Day to All!

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When Nirvana Turns: Smells Like Old Applebee's

The end of the World has been heralded and bandied about for months now, mostly amongst hyper-religious fundamentals, the superstitious and the odd (I do mean odd.) guest on late-night radio's Coast-to-Coast with George Noory: May 21st, they say. I figure if it does happen, I'm truly fine with it because in my mind, it already happened at an undisclosed Applebee's somewhere in Southern California. It happened before I knew what hit me; the good thing is I was very, very okay with it and pleased with where I was ... spiritually, if not gastronomically.