There’s a golden sky in the west tonight. I don’t have a clear view to the horizon from where I sit on the back porch, but I can see the slivers of the evening light sneaking through the woodland canopy. The foliage is still mostly green, but there is some sporadic color catching the last rays of the sun.

While the evening fades, a squirrel is foraging in the top of a dogwood about 30 feet away. It’s a tall, lanky dogwood like all the ones that grow under the taller oaks and poplar of the forest. It’s never had enough light to branch out wide and full, so it reaches up more like a bean pole.

It’s been a good year for dogwood berries, it seems. The canopy arches out like an umbrella and is covered with the bright red delicacies that this squirrel is after. When he goes out a branch and reaches above the leaves, the whole tree shakes violently.

Nothing else in the woods is moving. I can’t see the squirrel, but I know he’s there because I saw him scamper up the trunk as I sat down to write. He goes out on a limb. The tree shakes. He runs back inside the canopy and in hiding munches on his meal. Repeat over and over.

All the while, acorns are falling from the white oaks that surround the house on the back corner. They sound like missiles hitting the roof; little musket balls being launched from 60 foot up. They hit and bounce, then roll around and skip off the gutter to the ground. They’re falling at a rate of about one or two every few minutes. The ones that hit the metal roof above the porch are the loudest.

I absolutely love the fall season. Long sleeves feel cozy on these cool mornings. The coffee tastes better when I can see the steam rising off the top of my cup. The mosquitoes are gone. Before too long, I’ll have a fire in the fireplace.

When I was a kid, we’d go to the county fair in the fall. Popcorn. Peanuts. Cotton candy. I can smell the livestock barn. I can feel the force of the egg scrambler as it turned and spun and slung me against the side of my seat. The Ferris wheel always made my stomach turn when I crossed top-dead-center and started on the downward side. A million light bulbs flashing on every ride. Another ticket for a chance to shoot the ducks, or to toss a ring over a bottle.

Fall meant high school football. I don’t remember watching the games all that much. We’d spend the whole night walking behind the bleachers, circling in front of the bleachers, stopping to talk for a while, then moving on again.

The games were more like an excuse for us non-athletic types to hang out with friends. The band played the same old songs. The announcer’s voice boomed out over the loudspeakers. The whole scene was bathed in bright light while the rest of the world beyond the field disappeared into a veil of darkness.

I still like high school football. Marion got me back into the bleachers last year. I used to go because all of my kids were in the band. We chased the games all over the country from here to Macon and back. We even went to Jackson one time, which I hadn’t been to that stadium since I was in high school. It had not changed at all.

It’s different now. I don’t have kids in school anymore. I don’t know anyone on the field. I don’t care if the drum corps misses a beat. We go because it’s fun. We like the game. It’s also cheaper than a movie. It’s also different because I’m not there to hang out behind the bleachers. I actually sit and watch the game.

Fall is also that time of year when I get ready to go deer hunting. I’m not saying I’m a regular Daniel Boone, but I’ve hunted since I was old enough to carry a BB gun with my dad. I love the woods. I love the possibility of seeing the big one. I love having a full freezer.

It’s been a long while since I’ve hunted seriously. I was spoiled in my growing up years. Plenty of land. Multiple hunting stands just a short walk from the back door of the house. I could go every day of the season and did for a number of years.

For the last 40 years I haven’t had that luxury. If I want to go hunting, I have to make arrangements. I have to plan ahead. I have to have permission on somebody else’s land. I have to get invited. Or, I have to spend a month’s wages to belong to a club. Or, even worse, I have to go to some WMA and take a chance on getting shot by someone who doesn’t know a deer in a thicket from the orange vest that covers my posterior.

The hunting bug has hit pretty hard this year. Marion has seen to that. She spend 30 years of her life at deer camp with her family. She’s got the gear. She’s shares the same love of the woods as I do. And she knows how to cut up the steaks and the tenderloins. She knows how to make sausage and stew. I figure I have to be about the luckiest man on the planet during deer season.

I have a new stand this year. Her stand, actually. We have set out some mineral blocks and salt licks down near the creek behind my shop. I don’t have a lot of acreage, but enough. The trail cam is set up. The deer have been active.

Soon, I’ll go sit in the woods. It’s too warm now. And I don’t have to be out early to go sit. I’ve done my share of freezing my bones in a deer stand. I don’t have to stay out until dark-thirty. If the “big one” comes by, I’ll feel lucky. If all I do is just sit in the woods and enjoy the quiet for spell, that’ll be fine.

I’ll watch the sun settle in the west. I’ll feel the warmth of my hunting jacket. I won’t get nervous every time a darn squirrel shakes a tree. I’ve fallen for that trick too many times.

And by the way, this new stand is big enough for two. I ain’t never been on a hunting date before, but I reckon I’m about to find out what that’s like. I’ll have my rifle. She’ll have her camera. Between the two of us, one of us is gonna get a good shot.

I don’t know what you’re doing this fall, but it won’t take much of a plan to make the best of it. I recommend you take a long walk in the woods. Listen to the squirrels. Stand quiet for a good long while and let the wind through the trees talk to you.

If you’re still long enough, you might even see the big one.