You know what this means, don't you?

I am sitting on the couch watching West Wing reruns on the Hallmark channel. My tongue gently probes a dull, but insistant ache on my bottom left molar. I'm drawn to this ache. I wonder what it looks like; how deep can it burrow into my jaw before it begins to affect my sanity? There's a long patch of dull in the script where Josh and Toby are once again screaming at each other in strings of meaningless acronyms that I assume will leave CJ with some pretty tough explaining to do in the briefing room.

My attention drifts. I glance out the window.

The background soundtrack in my head screeches to a sudden, dissonant halt. What the?

One of these things is not like the other.

Where did that come from? How long has it been there?

My molar sinks a root deeper into my mandible, lashes a nerve around the rot, and throbs casually as if to say, "Quite a while actually. You've just been too busy to notice."

And I wonder has nature always been this obliging with the easy metaphor? Have I really just not been paying attention before now?

The flaming tree amidst a forest of green. The burning nerve in my otherwise blameless jaw.

The rot of Autumn. The rot of tooth decay.

The impending Winter, which sucks not unlike this creeping tooth ache. I may have some time--a few weeks, a month maybe--to enjoy the brisk mornings and the vibrant color, to ruminate on the poetry of decay--but eventually I'm going to have to deal with the mountain of crap that's marching right behind it, and, chances are, it's going to sting a bit.