It's getting on to 4, the sun has not shown itself
all day, the snow is melting, some bare spots of
grass appearing here and there, it's 34 degrees.
The little piles of bird seed I put out at noon on
the walkways have all but disappeared, gangs
of birds have mostly consumed it all, pretty little
ground feeders, of one kind or another. My inside
fat cat has had his nose pressed to the window all
day observing them with wide eyed interest and
quivering jaw, maybe licking his predatory lips.
Even though he has never eaten anything that did
not come out of a bag or can.

I too have enjoyed watching them busily hopping
around feasting, I always wonder where they go
when they disappear. Maybe just passing through
headed south for warmer pastures? Or are they year
round locals? Do they have any idea who put out
the feast, and how does the word get spread, do
they have scouts or lookouts, or some kind of aerial
bird only telegraph system.

At least the freezing weather kept our Barn Cats all
snugged up and off the street, at one point I quick
counted between 40 to 50 winged visiting diners
out there. The cats never even knew they were here.

Watching them feed was almost as much of a treat
for me as it was for them. It made me feel useful,
and that does not happen very often these days.
When we get old it is these little things that matter
and sustain us.

She was an old barn cat, around the place for
a dozen years or more. Superb mouser and
yard hunter. Came from feral parents, aloof
by nature, and breeding, a little wild at heart
I suppose.  In time she developed some slight
affection for some of my family, me included,
eventually a regular welcomed visitor to my
porch, even crawling upon my lap for pat and
scratch under her chin but always declining to
be held by any human being.

She would come when I called her, running
full tilt and jumping fences, ignoring the food
just wanting attention and companionship.
Over the years she and I became good friends.
She came every day, morning and evening to say
hello and oh yes, get an offered meal. Rubbing
her sleek cat body on my feet and legs, offering
up her affection with an audible purring for
everyone to hear even from some distance.

Her age was starting to show, thinner, slower, she
was getting on just as I am, perhaps we both knew
it. Last night she came to the glass door and looked
so forlorn. Though cold outside I put on a coat and
brought her out some food, and I sat in my chair.

She sniffed the food with disinterest then came
over to lay upon my feet softly meowing, I could
feel her little purr motor vibrating on my shoes.
I reached down and gave her a tummy scratch,
she always loved that.

We resided like that for a while, her upon my feet,
me in my chair. Becoming too cold I started to rise
to go back inside, but Daisy did not move, I reached
down and felt no purr vibration, she was unmoving
and silent. In that moment I knew that she had passed
from this earth. I picked up her now limp unresisting
body and placed her on my lap, my eyes teared knowing
that she was gone.

So sudden, one minute there and then just gone.
Not a bad way to go, rather than some long-drawn
-out affair, with doctors, useless operations, hospice
and lingering formidable pain. Just lay down and
go to sleep.

We should all be that lucky when our time comes.

I climbed this mountain to once again
look upon your face.

You always loved sunsets, called them
mystical, said that if we looked deeply
with purposeful conviction that we
could see the face of those that we had
loved and lost.

As with most things, in this also you
were right. I climbed this mountain to
once again see your face, and I see you
in its warm sunset glow and deepening
bright star light mother dear.

LA burns, smoke blackens sky,
people flee and abandon cars,
90 and 100 mile an hour winds
feed and fan the flames, people
losing everything, even being
rich, or famous cannot save their
big homes and life's possessions.
Someplace in that expanding,
raging inferno my son, an Oregon
Fire Chief leads 300 Firefighters
and their 75 engines and water tenders
over 900 miles south into the fire storm.
Along with firefighters from other
states. Mutual support needed & rendered.

One of my son's firemen is his own son,
and my 21year old rookie grandson
with a little over one year on the job.
His seasoned father has fought many
battles with all kinds of fires, he set to
retire in May after 30 years on the job.
He has seen it all, with never a scratch
or a "singe", but my grandson has never
experienced anything of this magnitude,
being one of a 4-man truck crew battling
side by side in the belly of a raging beast.

All these 30 years I've worried for my son's
safety, now it starts anew, for our boy barely
a man that now walks in his father's shoes.

I will not sleep well until they are all
home safely. I grieve for the victims
of this awful tragedy.

A light cold rain began to fall, I could see my
breath like smoke in the air, our brief Fall had
become our early Winter, I chill quivered in
response, and zipped up my jacket. Also, my
aging legs required a brief respite, I had not
intended to walk so far.

Taking shelter under a river birch tree, I huddled
and shivered beneath the hood of my rain parka.
The creek less than five feet away flowed briskly
past, swollen with three days of rain, all around
me falling like confetti, golden Birch leaves slowly
fluttered down upon the surface of the creek,
glimmering on the dark water like so many tiny
glowing Japanese lanterns, quickly swept away
downstream.

Within minutes, those leaves that made it that far
would float, or flow into the Willamette River,
and by nightfall some would find their way into
the mighty Columbia River, forty miles distant.
Just maybe, perhaps by tomorrow a few might
actually, find their way West to reach and mix
into the salty Pacific Sea.

What a nearly wonderous journey to behold and
contemplate, one tiny footnote in the many chapters
and story within the pages of nature's earthly playbook.
All things in balance, all with a purpose.

When I was young the days seemed longer,
the weeks, months, even a year an eternity,
but then the ensuing speeding decades seemed
to melt away like winter snows. Reminding me
that life is a brief and fleeting thing not to be
taken for granted or wasted.

Winter chills have come a little early,
the Cascade mountains to the east
covered with fresh snow, a warming
blaze in my fireplace, the first of the
season, I sit content with a hot mug
of tea, life is good and now returned
to mostly normal.

I do so enthusiastically enjoy normal.