56 degrees. Time to break out the coat. Time to think warm thoughts. Time waits for no one. The Writing Porch is reminiscent of fall. I may start writing about Christmas. Stranger things have happened.

Transition is coming. We think everything stays the same, but it does not. As we change daily, so does our environment. As it has been said, a rut is a grave with both ends removed. A New Day is coming. Indeed, this is true each day. Change is watching us. Mr. Change does not reveal himself before it is time. He waits patiently for the right moment. Those who speak the loudest have few answers to life’s persistent questions.

We build the torn-down places of our lives. We rebuild with purpose. Much of life is rebuilding the good structures. We used to play Jenga, where the object was to see how high you could build a tower out of slim wooden blocks. Now and then, you took a block out of the middle of the structure. Sometimes it fell. Much the same happens with our construction endeavours.

‘Let Joe do it,’ Mr. Critic said. ‘He is in on the know and the one they always call on,’ Mr. Critic continued. ‘Joe is a cornerstone in the Church…nothing gets done without his approval,’ Mr. Critic laughed.

‘Lord, make me an instrument of Change for the better lives of your creation,’ Joe prayed.

‘There are not the number of my supporters that there usually are,’ the President said. ‘I dance for them regularly, but they do not respond like they did at one time, the President continued. ‘I try new avenues daily, but the Democrats and my enemies are always in the middle of the road of success,’ P said. ‘Before I was the Change that they long for, but now they seek another Messiah,’ P grimaced.