Sunday has arrived. Life moves forward incrementally and rapidly. It is an interesting paradox. I marvel at the great photos Jennifer takes. She has a photographer’s eye for detail. I take photos daily. I want to know if I was there at the moment of the day. When we reflect on the past, it seems like a dream. Did I really carry a 22-inch all-metal buffer up two flights of steps? Did I catch 500-pound carpet rolls at the Furniture store and then lift my end with the store owner lifting the other? Did I crawl on my knees all day assisting my friend Brent to lay carpet?

The Geese are talking shop on Sunday. I love to hear the honks. MJ is making chili in honor of fall coming. I bought a red pepper. The cashier said Only one? I thought of telling her that if she were coming to dinner, I would have purchased two. There is a cult called the Rationalist. ‘Its members seek to use rationality to avoid cognitive biases. Common interests include probability, effective altruism, transhumanism, and mitigating existential risk from artificial intelligence.’ So it goes in our human family’s search for meaning and truth.

The Old Man walked in the Woods today. He often does. He thought of matters great and small. He thought of his friend who is searching for meaning. He thought of his friend who is sick. The Old Man wondered how he could help. The Geese are talking about the future.

‘Well, it is still warm and the sun is high in the sky…with the changing weather patterns, it is becoming difficult to decide when to fly north,’ Greta Goose said.’It seems the humans have mucked it up for the rest of us,’ Greta Goose observed. ‘Some of the swallows have already taken flight for Capistrano,’ Greta noted. ‘I like the
Brooks Pond is peaceful and has no predators,’ Greta Goose said with a wide grin. ‘Great Blue Heron is nice and keeps to himself while his kid Little White Heron is mischievous but fun,’ Greta laughed. ‘The other day I threw Little White Heron a fish and he caught it in his beak,’ Greta said. ‘Beryl Beaver is busy building is dam,’ Greta observed with a sly grin. ‘He greets me fondly each morning as he is carrying his lunch box to the Pond,’ Greta said. ‘BB is busy throughout the day and has little time for small talk,’ Greta Goose laughed.

‘I must finish the dam,’ Beryl Beaver said as he swam across Brooks Pond with a mouth full of twigs. ‘Something big is coming, and I have to finish my work,’ BB said with a sigh. ‘There is an ill wind blowing and I must do my part,’ Beryl Beaver said. ‘A storm is coming,’ BB observed with a serious look.

We seek the answer on the long walk home. Soon, the apples will be in season. Apple pie and apple cider, and cool nights. Bobbing for apples in October. Young love and old people smiling. The Grand Performance is playing out before our eyes. The fireplaces will be warm and welcome rest and reflection. The geese will have flown south. The Beaver will have built his dam. We will place another quilt on the bed to warm us against the Ill Wind.