Step outside in autumn, catch that cool smell in the air, and suddenly you’re a poet or a philosopher, usually a bad one. Then you want some wind in your life too. You’re here for that, aren’t you? Me too.As a teenager I had pen pals everywhere. I’d race home from school to check for replies, and when one came, my day lit up. I doubt I’ll feel that again, but here I am, a little hopeful anyway.Maybe we’ll just pass like strangers at a crosswalk. Or maybe not.Forget the small stuff of daily life. Fun things, silly things, the poetic stuff you’d never tell your friends. Shall we?