Myth in our daily lives

"Hitherto the god with whose death and resurrection we have been chiefly concerned has been the tree-god. But if I can show that the custom of killing the god and the belief in his resurrection originated, or at least existed, in the hunting and pastoral stage of society, when the slain god was an animal, and that it survived into agricultural stage, when the slain god was the corn or a human being representing the corn, the probability of my explanation will have been considerably increased."
The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer, p. 351

Well, this morning I woke up with a nice hangover, which typically accompanies Friday mornings after a Thursday night at the Molly. Once I slept in long enough to miss my 8 AM I decided to go on a nice hike. My roommates had left for the weekend in hopes of killing an elk and John left me with his dog, Jet (a 3 y/o Springer). I decide to bring him as well as his vitamin E (electricity)  along with me so he gets some exercise.

I found myself in a beautifully wooded area in the Spanish Peak Mountain Range when Echo came to mind. I decided to let out a hoodie-hoo to see if Echo was with me and she responded going from West-South-East and it felt like my echo rang out for 10 seconds although I am sure it was much shorter. It is times like these as I sit by myself, with no one around except a few horseback riders whom I know only exist because of the feces left by the horses, that I feel so grateful for my father, a mythic creature himself pushing me into the wilderness.
The first time I can remember really being pushed by him to get into outdoor activities was at Outward Bound, now this is a scarce memory as it was when I was a wee one of the age of four or five. The one thing I do remember well is the name of the group I was in, Aquarius, another connection to my being in the wilderness and the "higher" forces around me.

This also got me thinking about Eliade's third chapter, Myths and Rites of Renewal in Myth and Reality. He constantly is talking about the death and birth every year of our surroundings and as I looked around seeing death in every deciduous tree around me was either yellow, orange, or red showing no sign of the stunted green they show every year. This is what makes me miss living in New Hampshire most it has been five years since I have been graced with seeing what New England is most famous for, the beautiful fall colors. The colors are made possible because the tree must go through a process to protect itself during winter and this process includes the death of the beautiful leaves. So it is as Eliade says, "This is their "World," and it must be periodically renewed or it may perish" (p.43) the trade-offs of having a dreary winter for a beautiful fall.