This Fall in New England has been incredibly glorious.
Warm. The toasty kind of warm, like warming cold hands over a marshmallow fire.
Blue. As in the sky. I have never seen so much keen, clean, brilliant blue than the daytime skies of this Fall.
Ribbons of purples and pinks. The clouds each evening as the brilliant blue of day hints into the darkness of night.
Moonshine. Not the drinking kind (not until it gets a wee bit colder!). But the beams of light shining on Earth from the multiple Moon phases in the night skies.
Scarlet. Ruby. Flax. Goldenrod. Persimmon. Amber.
Yes, leaves. Thousands of them. New ones each day. Lingering just a little longer, soaking in the sun’s magnificence.
And, oh yeah. Men in short shorts.
No, not Men in Trees.
Men in short shorts.
I have never seen so many men (older ones, at that) in such short shorts than during this New England Fall.
Men running in parks, on sidewalks, at the beach, on bike and footpaths… wearing micro-mini short shorts.
And by “short” I mean I-hate-to-stare-too-long-because-I-might-actually-see-“the package”-make-an-appearance short.
Or worse yet, some slippage.
Come on, guys. I know it has been downright balmy. But must you?
Perhaps this is a reaction to women who run in their tight leggings. Skimpy sports bras. Lots of skin and lots of glistening sweat.
But meat-locker short shorts? And silk, no less?
I might soon be hunkering for a good ol’ Nor’easter, just to clear my brain.
And the short shorts from the scene.