Fall is one of those times where you can alternate between those incredible highs and heart-stopping lows. Winter is a bit worse (I loathe the cold with a passion most unholy) but Fall tends to make me feel sort of bipolar. I love warmth and colour and all of that what-not. Fall here in Virginia tends to show the most amazing blends but my home state has the best IMHO.
Nothing is better than traveling through Pennsylvania in Fall and Spring. So much colour....greens and reds and golds. You feel like you can't get enough; like you might just explode from trying to absorb it all at once. I guess that's why it's a time of year when I'm the most moody.

Tiny rivers flow past my face, stubbled and weary.
The grey of the sky seeps into the pores of the living going deep...down...down into the cracks.
My attention wanders to the grime on the street signs, the washed out watercolours of this living art
through the glass.
It seems its not enough for the clouds to vent their anguish, one drop at a time. I feel that the dark
the wet
it keeps filling up my chest to the point where I feel I could drown in that neverending whole.
Where does it stop?
Where do I begin?
I shrug for no answer comes from the reds and the golds floating all around, whirling and dancing
dementedly.
The light turns red, I shift into gear.
Life passes on its indelible stain.