It is Sunday again. MJ bought us lunch. She is a good egg! The Brooks Men had our caps and hats and felt at home since our waiter had a similar flat cap. It is hot, with the promise of nine consecutive days in the 90s. A hot beginning to September. The golf course has well-groomed golf carts. They look new. Talk has turned to the Old Man’s birthday and New Orleans. The health of those we know reminds us we are getting old.

Autumn is coming. Several celebrations, things to do, people to see. Autumn grapes make good wine. Baseball is deciding its fate. It is good to be in the game. As the comedian Chris Rock reminded husbands and fathers, they may not be the band leader or lead singer but rather the tambourine player. ‘Play that tambourine with all you have,’ Chris Rock said.

I think of Jerry Lewis this time of year and his Muscular Dystrophy Telethon on Labor Day. This signaled to me that fall had begun. Magic Time. A time to cool down. Time to reflect. Time to consider next steps. Time to relish and revel in the gift of piloting your little boat through life’s waves and rocky shores.

Days of wine and roses. The quickening hearts hearing a scary ghost story. The settling of spirits hurt by mean, cruel treatment. Hot chocolate and s’mores do good like medicine. Reading Treasure Island, Little Women, The Headless Horseman. Searching for the rhyme in the reason.

Life has rhythm. Life has rhyme. When we are in time with the music, all is well. Autumn is an opportunity to re-tune. The French Quarter taught me the beauty and essential need for music to describe life. Jazz Bands were victorious. The beautiful black female singer on the corner had won the battles of life through her music. She sang of joy, peace, sorrow, and pain. Music brings Heaven to Earth.

The little boy running circles around Grandma’s house, his cat following him. The cat meows loudly. The cat gives up. A blue heron watches, waiting by Brooks Pond. He has been gone for a while. Grandma calls out instructions to her grandson, who replies he cannot hear her; he is sorry. It is the last week for pools and swimming holes to be open. Time to swim while the Sun shines. Time for one last Pounds Hollow adventure.

‘Today I will swim and float to the far side of the lake.’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘This is our last Swimming Trip of the Season,’ Billy B continued. ‘I love swimming so especially floating. I am a master floater,’ Billy B winked. ‘With my ears in the water, the world is silent,’ Billy B noted. ‘Sometimes Dad and Mom float with me in the deep water, at least when I have my eyes shut in the warm sun,’ Billy B said softly.