Autumn prelude

For the past eighteen hours or so, there were storms to the east of us; storms to the west of us; storms to the north of us; and storms to the south of us. Amidst the torrents, we got drizzled on. To quote an old saying: “close to, but better than, nothing.”

a damp autumn day

Photo by J. Harrington

Under this morning’s cloudy, drippy skies, we watched a skein of geese in their classic V plus a flock of cranes in a ragged line. That was in addition to several gaggles of geese feeding on a local lawn and two or three (four?) flocks and families of wild turkeys out foraging in the drizzle. Autumn’s urge for going is growing. The preceding observations were made as we headed for the credit union to deposit our 2021 tax rebate check, the one that looks suspiciously like some sort of junk mail or scam. Wouldn’t it be nice if we lived in a world where folks didn’t feel a need to be so skeptical? The last time I emptied my email spam folder, there were more than 250 messages that had accumulated. Sigh!

Despite a number of interesting and appealing new books on the shelves and tables of our favorite local bookstore, located just down the road from the credit union, I uncharacteristically behaved myself. The number of unread and partially read books sitting on my tables and shelves is enough to give even me a slightly guilty conscience. Writers keep writing, poets keep poeting, and publishers keep publishing faster than a guy can read. Definitely not a case of “close to, but better than....” 

Next to the book store is one of the food coops to which we belong and where the Better Half took a walk through to emerge with a bag of “First Kiss” apples (juicy and delicious and traditional deep red) plus a small collection of pumpkin candles that will bring the dining room table more into seasonal alignment. I’m going to have to watch my step. A few more mornings like this and I might end up in a good mood!

September

by John Updike

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.

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