All the signs are here. The leaves of the walnut trees in the side yard have fallen off, leaving only bare clusters of nuts in twos and threes. The Canada geese honk overhead, flying south in V formations. Blue Jays and chickadees have replaced the songbirds in the thickets around my studio. The wind blows more often from the north and the air is crisp and clean. Fall has arrived.

The arrival of fall in my world means two things. The first is that Madison will probably get me sick and second, that Florida becomes my second home. As for Madison it doesn’t have to be that way. I wish I could convince her that not taking a bath for three days is not something to brag about. Florida however is inevitable. Artists must follow the money and the money heads south for the cold months. Well at least that used to be the way things worked. Now it seems as if only the artists are heading to Florida.

There is always a certain amount of confusion associated with my first trip south. I forget that thick socks are completely useless in Florida. I usually forget my flip-flops. And almost always I leave too late because I’ve forgotten what 15 hours of driving without a break is like. But it slowly comes back to me as I drive. Which gas stations have the best bathrooms, which exits have a Panera Bread Co. and just how far I can go before I absolutely positively have to pee.

There is always a magical moment when I realize with a glance at the dash thermometer that I don’t need the heat anymore and I can roll down the windows and still be warm. It’s usually dark when I cross the state line between Georgia and Florida but even with my eyes closed I would know because you are immediately aware of the humidity. The air becomes heavy and clingy with moisture even at 80 mph. But your body doesn’t officially recognize the geographical change until you step out of the hotel the next morning into the tanning bed warmth of the Florida sun. It’s not just the weather however that is Florida. The whole landscape is changed. I find myself staring at palm trees admiring their odd silhouettes and every scampering green anole brings me to a halt. And then there is the demographic difference. It takes some time to get used to the sight of old men in dark dress socks and shorts sunning themselves on park benches in a repose that can only be described as the toilet position. I have to get used to not stopping and offering to help every tottering grandparent that looks and acts like the sun is just about to finish them off. For many Floridians just barely making it from one handhold to the next is the standard form of locomotion.

But by the third or fourth show all of this has become commonplace. Occasionally I will still reach out to help an off-balance retiree but mostly I’m at home in this sunny state. I can’t say I would live in Florida. I would miss the change of seasons too much. But every other weekend during the cold and wet Kentucky winters, it is a welcome relief.

I spend a lot of time in the car. So much so that a relationship of sorts has developed between the driver seat and my posterior. The one shaping the other and vice versa. I used to think that an eight-hour drive was an eternity but now I can do it standing on my head. Well sitting on it I guess. And wouldn’t that be a welcome relief for my rear end. I’ve developed all sorts of tricks to pass the time. I can usually waste an hour or two transferring sunflowers seeds from a red bag to my mouth, then to an empty Coke bottle where both seeds and shells collect in a sticky mess. I sometimes see how quickly I can chew two packs of gum and then how much aspirin it takes to relieve my headache from all the chewing. But mostly I listen to audio books. On a recent trip to Washington DC I listened to an extraordinary but true story of a stranded 19th century American sea captain titled, “Sufferings in Africa.” I especially liked the part where Captain James Riley drank camel pee directly from the source. Actually he seemed to do it quite often. At least enough so that he took the time to describe the best method for sipping this salty beverage. I only mention this now to juxtapose it to my own trials and tribulations as I journeyed across the country. True I have never had to drink camel urine but I have often found myself in quite a pickle trying to dispose of my own. I’m in the running for the world’s smallest bladder and it doesn’t help when the rest stop you’ve been counting on for 50 miles is closed and a sign reads mockingly, “next rest area 50 miles.” But I got lucky this trip because I was distracted for the next 50 miles by the oddest road kill phenomenon I have ever seen. I first noticed a few furry carcasses scattered about the median. They were in all manner of repose, some on their backs with their mouths agape, others missing tails or worse. I quickly figured out that they were squirrels, or at least used to be. That by itself was nothing out of the ordinary but in this case the sheer volume of carcasses was outstanding. Between two mile markers I counted 17 bodies and that was not including the lone tails and assorted body parts that also littered the road. I peered over the steering wheel trying to figure out why such cute furry creatures should decide to end it all in what looked like a mass suicide. And apparently it wasn’t over yet. Ahead I watched cars weave between lanes to avoid squirrels playing an advanced game of frogger. So as not to contribute to the carnage, I steered into the far left lane hoping that the squirrels would understand by this that there was no point in making a dash for it. But just ahead a squirrel stood upright in the right lane looking is if attempting to time its run. This couldn’t have had anything to do with nuts because just as I approached he or she decided to go for it. This was clearly suicide. It sounded and felt just like someone had thrown a tennis ball at my car. I watched in my rearview mirror as a car lazily steered around some object in the road. What is wrong with West Virginia squirrels I wanted to know. As I pondered this question I was relieved to read a sign saying, “rest area next right.”

To clarify… not a day goes by that I do not give passing thanks for the life I lead. My life is my own. I come and go as I please, I eat when I'm hungry, I travel and rarely a day goes by that I'm not able to watch a soccer match on ESPN 360. While it is true I only own two pairs of pants and even my best shirt has a hole in it, I do have what I need. And that is undoubtedly a wonderful state of affairs. So while my days are sometimes difficult, do not confuse my grumblings with ingratitude. Difficulties are like rain. They are natural aspect of our lives. And whether we choose to shake our fists at the sky or let the heavens give us a bath it is entirely up to us.