Tobey walked through the craft store considering his life. It was easy for him to consider such a thing in the craft store. He was surrounded by the autumn decorations, the images of death acceptable in the south. It was a typical Mississippi fall, hot as hell during the day, cool to cold in the night, and every yahoo left and right sniveling and sneezing due to the fall allergies. The craft store was just as bad. The sent on the fake seasonal flowers was almost deafening. It didn't make sense that all people do is complain about allergies then surround themselves with fake or dead flowers doused in chemicals meant to smell like natural substance.
It's shocking it is, the images of death all around in a culture that ignores death like it does sex ed. It was strange to him being a transplant from Pennsylvania, it isn't like he grew up in a bastion of liberalism but there wasn't a shadow hanging over certain associations. He chuckled to himself as he looked at all the women lining up to by new dead flowers for their living rooms, brown balls of twig, pine cones, everything to remind us of death. Why then would we refer to retirement and age as the “autumn of our lives”. Autumn is preparation, preparation for the cold winter to befall all those whose hearts continue to beat, but they're not witches going to cast spells, or pagans planning to celebrate the local god's death and rebirth.
The empty cotton fields, the brown and yellow leaves on trees, even the decorations in the craft stores, all symbolize death, all symbolize the autumn of this year. At least the pagans of old understood how the earth lives and dies every year. Tobey looked around chuckling as he imagined himself surrounded by Grim Reapers, men and women in black cloaks, carrying scythes maybe not reapers but Dickensian peasants preparing sacrifices. They may have taken the gods out of it, but it is still worship. We may not be worshiping some deity but we rest pots full of dead flowers on our fireplaces, we bring balls of twigs and pine indoors for some reason. We surround ourselves with the natures death for some purpose.
Tobey just chuckled at the idea, at the truth of the matter, no matter how we may think we are running from death, like all creatures we invite him in annually, monthly, daily. We let him sit at our dinner tables, we feed him roast, ever waiting for him to take us to the river to pray. And then someday when we follow him, the boatman will snatch the coins from our eyes, and we will all see that death is nothing more than winter and all will know, spring is always around the corner.
