An autumn evening

A downhill slide to the end of the first day of fall finds me on the front porch as dusk gathers.  I hear a voice from the street and see my friend Brenda walking by.   I answer her call and she comes to the porch.  We spend a few pleasant minutes drinking water and talking about some of life’s twists and turns.  She listens to me telling her a few things that have burdened me; but we laugh at how surreal some of my life’s events seem even to me.  She stands, we say goodbye, and she walks on down Holmes Street, towards her house and the waiting cat.  I go inside to reheat my leftover Pad Thai and feed the dog.  The quietness of my home surrounds me.  As the sun sets, I say a prayer for my favorite curmudgeon, then draw the shades, switch on the porch light, and contemplate the rest of my week.  I have no complaints tonight.  I’m assessing those twists and turns.  I’m rummaging around in the basket that I lug from week to week and year to year, extracting some of the debris and tossing it on the compost pile. In the quiet of the autumn evening, I’m continuing my year without complaining by doing a little personal house-keeping.  I see no reason to wait for spring.

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