The Old Man walked in the rain today. While listening to classical Christmas music. It was an unparalleled joy. A mother was protecting her fawn. Change is here, and she knows it. The fawn looked like a deer in the headlights. His look was full of wonder and the newness of life. His frame of reference was small, but his aspirations were large. He was ready to take on the world of the Woods. No one would stop him in his pursuit. The passion play of Earth was on full display. Wet leaves do not crunch. They settle onto the earthen bed. All is right with God’s creation. Humans muck it up at times. We were meant for greatness, but prefer to scrape ourselves with potsherds among the broken pots. We are invited to soar like the eagle while we slither on the ground, looking up for our destiny. We have a purpose and mission. Other humans upset us we imagine their conspiracy for us. Look over the fence, we say. Look how the other half lives. Others are watching our fence line. Perhaps they have designs regarding our lives.

Stories keep us. Without stories, we have no history. Our lives are but a vapor ascending upwards to Heaven. Without a chronicler who will know that we were here? Today is the tomorrow that we worried about yesterday. Regular Order is the rule for life. A settled mind is the goal. The Scribe is watching and listening. Human life plays mental tricks. Taken a day at a time, life seems chaotic. Everything is changing. Is the Bully now the hero? Are there just a few good Americans and the rest chaff on the threshing floor? Are there phases that test our resolve to hold true to the unchanging plan of life?

Fall is serene and forgiving. The heat of summer is over. The sweat of the noonday sun has passed. There are Aaron and Jonathon around the Christmas Tree in the 80s. Wide-eyed and innocent, waiting for life to begin for them. Fisher-Price toys were the order of the day until Nintendo came along. Bases Loaded was a fascinating example of modern technology. MJ and I played it until the sun came up. Our four-room house seemed like a mansion. The Christmas Tree was resplendent with Victorian ornaments from Walmart. The Christmas lights glowed softly. Royal Vinter coffee to drink, which we special-ordered, just like the rich people do.

How could there be such a miracle as the internet? We were unable to obtain it in Elkville for some time due to the lack of a company serving our village. A dial-up modem provided the ability to download a page from the New York Times in two or three minutes. It was just like the Jetsons. MJ and I purchased a Microsoft computer from Microsoft for $2,000 and played Oregon Trail on it. The Chronicler was writing it down for history.

Teddy Ruxpin was a miracle. He was a Teddy Bear that talked. His mouth moved as he spoke. Jonathon was fascinated by Teddy. At the end of Christmas Day, when God is in his Heaven and all is right with the world, Jonathon told me that Mr. Ruxpin had ceased to speak. Teddy’s mouth was broken. A casualty of Christmas excitement. The Chronicler wrote it down.

I saw my classmates and wished I had been at our 50th reunion. I can only see them as they were in 1975. Young and full of promise. We wanted to make our mark on the story. We sought to advance the narrative. The Chronicler was watching. Life seems long when you are experiencing the moment and short when you look back on the panoply of moments. All things pass away. This, too, shall change. Autumn is here in all of its wonder. A new year is coming. Another chapter is yet to be written.