Autumn Is Here

 This just out:

It's Autumn.

It is a beautiful day. There is something in the light that whispers, I am here. We are winding this hectic season down. Autumn is upon you, and soon, the rains will come.

There is a brightly suited goldfinch at the feeder. The bees are more relaxed in the wake of showers. Everything, however imperfect, looks beautiful. The sounds of chickadees, of my neighbour speaking in quivering Italian with her daughter, then laughing, the soft insistent rush of traffic a few doors down, a distant cry of a crow.

I love this place. This life. This flawed and momentarily tranquil self.

Who's Nina Simone?

Recently I heard someone say, "Who's Nina Simone?"

This is one of the shocks that reminds you that time is passing, and people are being born and the times that were so important at the time, are never seen by them, and never mean anything to them. It's like being on a single wave on a long beach. You're just one bubble in the great long curving line of foam, and every wave behind you is chasing you up the shore. And soon enough you'll break across the sand and cobbles and that will be it. And the next wave coming will never have heard of Nina SImone.

Well, this is her.