There is joy in the journey. The Old Man admired the changing leaves this morning. What a gift life is. The experience of being and a sense of place is special. Poems do not describe the beauty. Words fall short. It is a shame to go through life with the Gift and not realize the treasure. September is a week old. The holidays are coming. Life begins anew in the fall. The crispness of the air, the lightness of being, time to reflect and renew. We live in our heads, but our eyes look out onto our surroundings. Wisdom waits for us.

Others watch. Noise is not progress. Euphoria may lead to unwise decisions. The leaves crackled under the Old Man’s feet. Yesterday they were green; tomorrow they will be snow-covered. Today we are here. The animals played while the Old Man watched. They understand much more than we know.

‘I am excited about our picnic,’ Chet said. ‘We will have the Deer family join us Salameats and Oscar Mayer Wieners for lunch,’ Chet said, laughing. ‘There is much that is right with the world,’ Chet noted. ‘September Picnic is one of those things,’ Chet winked. ‘We shall invite our friends and make friends with those who are not,’ Chet continued. ‘There is room for all in the woods,’ Chet proclaimed! ‘We must invite Mr. Badger and Mr. Mole and Ratty and Mr. Toad to the festivities,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other.

‘I say, there, old chap, have you seen my spectacles?’ Mole asked Badger. ‘I seem to lose them more than I find them,’ Mr. Mole laughed despite himself. ‘I have been cleaning all morning and lost them when I lost my feather duster,’ Mole squinted. ‘Oh, how I love the fall,’ Mole said with gusto as his spectacles fell back on his nose from their resting place on his head. ‘We must ask the weasels to eat with us; they are a secretive group,’ Mole noted. ‘They have been looking into opening a dialogue with Badger, Toad, Ratty and I how to make the Woods better,’ Mole grinned broadly with his spectacles firmly in place.