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The descending sun was turning sky and white
clouds to yellow gold, evening shades pulling the
reflected glow down behind the hills, into the sea.
The low amber light spilling across the valley floor
casts muted textured shadows, the loveliest light
of the day.

Doves were still calling to one another, perhaps
discussing where to bed down for the night.
Peaceful voices of reassurance and calm that
always makes me smile.

In an hour, darkness will intercede, the clear
heavens will radiate and sparkle, stars much
brighter with but a diminished crescent moon
for competition.

In the coming darkness the night music of
crickets and frogs will begin to serenade
and as I recline in my comfy porch chair this
seductive creature orchestration, may induce
early slumber, difficult to evade.

But then what better way to end a nearly
perfect day?
Today I turned 76 years old, a bit of a surprise even
to me. Spent the day with my family, watched my
youngest grandson play in a school Baseball game.
Enjoyed a fine family dinner, cake for dessert.
Watered my garden and played fetch with my dog.
Now as I sit and observe in repose this gift of nature,
I am a truly contented man.
(Written on the 15th of May, not posted until today.)
The bent old man limped
out upon the wooden pier.
The day was bright and clear,
he had fished there for over
70 years, a place he revered
as both boy and man.

The sparkling clear water was
like looking down into a mirror.
To his own reflection staring back
up at him, he softly uttered,
“I used to be someone,
but not anymore.”

No one was around to see him go,
or hear the splash that took him low.
Time and age humbles all.
To be clear, he did not stumble
and fall, he dove head first.

To any concerned friends
that read this, this is not a
pre-ending of life note,
merely the musings of
feelings and thoughts
that aging people have.
As for me, I am just fine.
For most of my son's life
I was his teacher,
Now as an adult man
my son is teaching me.
Life is a revolving wheel,
it turns for us all.
Accepting the changes
that is the challenge.
He stalks and low crawls across the space.
Eyes wide and focused upon his prey,
a millions years of instincts throbbing
through his brain and sleek body.
His toes and claws flex with the coiled
anticipation of a hunter predator.

In a sudden burst of energy and blinding
speed he launches his attack, at the last
moment I pull up on the bait and he springs
three feet high into the air front claws extended!
For the next fifteen minutes the three month
old still a kitten, and I engage in our twice a
day ritual dance, a sparing inspired and facilitated
by a little feathered stuffed toy blue bird on a sting,
and I the puppet master.

His resolve is limitless, he will never quit, in
pursuit he springs and jumps circles in mid
air until I eventually end the affair for his own
good, when he begins to pant mouth open.
Then it is cat nap time. Sometimes for us both.
The Christmas gift kitten from
my children, bringing joy and
laughter long after the Holladay
event. My old dog loves the little
fellow too. I penned this for my
grandson Cooper as he loves to
watch that cat chasing and jumping
for that bird toy too.
The darkness is not frightening
it enfolds, shrouding everything
even me. I had all but forgotten
it's feel. The silence, the thoughtful
contemplation.

Four days and dark nights without
electric power, or water, layered in
the grip of an ice storms power.
Trees, plants and fences, everything
encrusted in thick coats of ice.
Power poles and lines toppled and
snapped. Hundred year old trees
uprooted, falling upon homes and streets.

How many times have I still flipped
a light switch or tried to flush the
toilet, all to no avail, how easily our
all electric lives can disappear, cutting
our dependent umbilical cords to all
technologies that we take for granted
until they disappear, living by faint light
of hearths fire or candles glow like our
many times removed ancestors did long ago.  

Cold food and cold rooms, huddled
by the fireplace for every bit of warmth
it offers. All in silence but for an occasional
crackling sparks from the fire, my own
audible breathing, the snoring of my old dog.

Inconvenient yes, but usefully instructional if
we heed the message, even rather peaceful too.
We seldom miss what we have until it is gone.
Less we forget, it is mother nature that is in
charge here. We can but dance to her tune.
The great Ice Storm in Oregon 2021.
In the end we lost some trees but nothing worse.
But many other folks were not so lucky.
I peck the keys with one
finger of one hand as the new
Christmas kitten lays content
and warm curled upon my
chest and folded into the crook
of my left arm, his purr motor
at full rev, this his preferred napping
perch whenever I sit at my computer,
little hedonist that he is.

And who am I to object to these
moments of shared warm affection?
It takes longer but I am
getting pretty good at
one hand one finger typing.
Not unlike needed caresses or gentle kisses,
the morning sun did bathe my upturned
face in needed glow of restorative warmth.
An encouraging respite after weeks of clouds
and cold rain to lift my flagging spirts,
supported and enhanced by the celebratory
songs of a plethora of birds, all this perhaps
the shining moments of glory in my entire
self isolated day.
One day out of the 322 days, 7,728
hours of my self isolation time served.
Doing time having done no crime.
With more to come, when one must
seek out those special simple uplifting
events. These little moments in time
that can feed and nourish our souls,
maybe even keep us sane in this time
of plague upon the land.
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