a touch of autumn

Snoopy walks across my key board and the light plays through the windows. Tigger, the kitten who shouldn't be, hops, slides, scampers, plops inside full of weather's joy - falling leaves and cool temperatures do seem to turn on kittens. From cross the street comes the grrr...ing of a blower, John Rainwater blowing leaves from off his lawn. Hard to believe someone I like and taught once upon a time bought a house across the street, and soon, December I think, he'll graduate from law school. Time marches, stopping for no one, not even me. Although I sometimes wish it true - stopping time, that is, just for a little while, to savor the moment longer - it's not and never will be until eternity. Enough philosophizing.

Walked outside this morning, stood and stared into the pond's depth, where last I counted only three fish, six swim. From where did they come? They're not babies but at least a finger's length each. One is black, the other two orange with black on their backs. I'll never cease to be amazed that the other three lived through my cruel forgetting to turn of the water till two a.m. and then forgetting the newly added water would need treatment - not until the next morning when they were already sick.

Having viewed the outdoors and touched autumn's door - I now must begin to cut and paste pieces of life into some coherent form.