The rain fell hard this morning in the Woods. This is the type of day when no one is exploring other than the Old Man. The hard ground of summer has become the spongy ground of fall. The kind of rain that soaks a raincoat through. The Old Man lit his pipe. In the corner of his eye, he saw a young man hurrying to the shelter with what appeared to be tomatoes in his hand and a white plate. First, the Old Man waved, and the young man kept walking toward a respite from the rain. Then the Old Man spoke, and the young man returned the greeting. He spoke as if the Old Man knew his story. ‘I have three days off work and this is the last day,’ the Young Man said. ‘Three days is too much for being in the Woods in the rain,’ the Young Man noted. ‘I love the Woods and a little rain, but this is more than I bargained for,’ the Young Man continued. The Young Man proceeded to place four ruby-red tomatoes on his white plate and began eating. He looked familiar in a strange sort of way. I wondered where he got the tomatoes that appeared to be garden fresh in mid-fall.

‘I have lost my way, I fear,’ the Young Man said to the Old Man. ‘What day of the week is it?’ the Young Man asked. ‘Why, it is Wednesday of course,’ the Old Man answered with a wry grin. ‘I thought days running together was a malady of the old,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘I come to the Woods almost every day and have never seen you here before,’ the Old Man commented. ‘Usually, a rainy day like this keeps everyone home,’ the Old Man chuckled.

‘In the past, I often came to Southern Illinois with my wife and son,’ the Young Man mentioned. ‘My wife’s family lived in Eldorado,’ the Young Man offered. ‘I rode a Harley Davidson with my son sandwiched in the middle between my wife and me,’ the Young Man said with a reminiscent grin. ‘Would you care for a tomato? They are fresh from my garden,’ the Young man asked the Old Man. ‘We did not have a garden in Chicago, but began one in Eldorado as all of our neighbors had one as well,’ the Young Man noted.

The mama deer and her baby watched with interest. A flock of geese flew overhead. The Young Man ate with vigor.

‘My family moved to Eldorado in 1963,’ the Old man said. ‘Dad planted a tomato garden in the backyard of the Haunted Victorian House we lived in,’ the Old man said with determination. ‘Dad rode a Harley-Davidson,’ the Old Man noted with a quavering voice. ‘He loved to walk in these Woods when we visited Eldorado,’ the Old Man explained. ‘He smoked Pall Mall cigarettes,’ the Old Man remembered. ‘Where is your automobile?’ the Old Man asked.

‘It has been a long time since I saw my Harley Davidson,’ the Young Man said. ‘Is JFK still President?’ the Young Man asked. ‘Do you have a light?’ the Young Man asked as he pulled a package of Pall Mall cigarettes from his breast pocket.

‘The Halloween Party is tonight in the old Victorian house on Illinois Avenue, Jane said. ‘It is haunted and ghosts have been seen many times,’ Jane continued. ‘Billy B. lived there when he first came to Eldorado,’ Jane said. ‘Billy B. heard voices in the night speaking in whispers,’ Jane noted. ‘The legend of the appearances includes crying from the covered well in the back yard,’ Jane shivered. ‘A young woman was thrown down the well and the top of it sealed up 100 years ago,’ Jane explained. ‘Her name was Annabel Lee, and Edgar Allen Poe wrote about her in a poem,’ Jane said with trepidation. ‘Poe came to Eldorado during his short life and lived with Annabel Lee in the Victorian,’ Jane said. ‘History does not record their love affair other than his poem, which is not set in Eldorado,’ Jane explained. ‘Poe writes of a ‘Kingdom by the sea, where he and Annabel Lee lived, Jane noted. ‘He continues with, ‘And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee: So that her highborn kinsman came and bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea,’ Jane quoted Edgar Allen Poe’s poem.

‘I have read that there were numerous sightings of a man with dark hair and a mustache seen around Eldorado,’ Chet said. ‘He wore a top hat and had a magnificent walking stick with an ivory skull on top,’ Chet continued. ‘He was known as a gentleman and drank spirits copiously,’ Chet observed. ‘He wrote for the Eldorado newspaper under the name Allen Poe and was well read,’ Chet explained. ‘He was from Massachusetts,’ Chet noted. ‘Mr. Poe wrote several detective stories while he resided in the Old Vic on Illinois,’ Chet said. ‘He was a sad man who became sadder when he drank,’ Chet commented. ‘He spoke of his beloved Annabel Lee, but no one ever met her,’ Chet said with a sigh. ‘Edgar Allen Poe is said to roam the long porch of the Victorian House on Illinois Avenue and is often seen with a young dark-headed woman of unparalleled beauty and mystery,’ Chet observed. ‘At times, the etheral creatures are rumored to walk across the street to the High School to watch the football team play,’ Chet laughed. ‘The lovely woman always cheers for the Eldorado Eagles,’ Chet winked.

‘When we moved into the Vic, I slept in a utility room that was so small I had to jump onto the roll-away bed to enter the room as it consumed the floor space,’ Bill B said. ‘I woke up the first night to see a little man dressed in black with a black mustache at the foot of my bed,’ Billy B continued. ‘He spoke not a word, just staring at me with sad eyes,’ Billy B. noted. ‘I asked him if he lived in the house and he shook his head no,’ Billy B. said. ‘I asked him again if he lived in the big cold house with a fireplace in every room and he said that he did live there…of a fashion,’ Billy B. noted with a fearful look. ‘The man in black with the doleful eyes said that he stayed close to his love, who was a resident of the property,’ Billy B. said. ‘The mysterious man said he had been a slave to drink and neglected the love of his life,’ Billy B. explained. ‘They were hiding in Eldorado to attempt to begin a new life,’ Billy B. recounted. ‘They wanted to be somewhere where no one knew them,’ Billy B. remembered. ‘I would give up the spirits, but they aid my writing the little man with the sad eyes told me,’ Billy B. said.

‘Welcome, Halloween guests,’ Edgar Allen Poe said. ‘You have discovered Annabel Lee and my secret hideway, EAP continued. ‘We live on you realize, I am sure,’ EAP explained. ‘Annabel Lee and I are happy in our secret life after life, Edgar Allen Poe said. ‘At times I think I am drinking more than usual, but it is hard to tell in the spirit world,’ Edgar Allen Poe laughed. ‘When I wrote my poem about my beautiful Annabel Lee, I was already dead, EAP noted with certainty. ‘So we did live by the sea at times and in Eldorado at other moments,’ Edgar Allen Poe noted. ‘Have you read the Tell-Tale Heart?’ Poe asked. Once again, I was thinking of my Annabel Lee,’ Poe noted. ‘Life is uncomplicated in Eldorado, and when I reveal myself, I am thought to be one of the eccentrics who frequent small town America,’ Poe laughed heartily.

‘You children are so lovely,’ Annabel Lee said with a benevolent smile. ‘Edgar has always been obsessed with me, and I do not know why, Annabel Lee continued. ‘I played the organ in the Presbyterian church in Massachusetts,’ Annable noted. ‘I noticed him each Sunday sitting in the front row listening to my playing,’ Annabel Lee said. ‘He seemed transported to another world,’ AL said. ‘He was always so sad,’ Annabel Lee noted with a tear in her eyes. ‘He wrote like a god and lived like a longshoreman,’ Annabel Lee said. ‘Here we watch the season pass, and our favorite is autumn, Annable Lee grinned. ‘Here people accept you for who you are and do not judge,’ Annabel Lee explained.

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.

Today is a rainy Sunday. My kind of day. The Woods were lovely, dark, and deep and wet this morning. I walk in the rain. I always have. I have not melted yet. The peace of a rainy day in the Woods is compelling. The leaves fall, winter is waiting at the door. An opportunity for Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey of Saturday Night Live notoriety.

‘This is a perfect Sunday for boating on the river,’ Mr. Toad said. ‘Sunday boating is simply the best,’ Mr. Toad continued. ‘I see the Old Man walking up the path, let us see if he would like to join us,’ Mr. Toad proclaimed. ‘The Old Man is a lover of the river and boating,’ Mr. Toad noted. ‘He has on his new leather Outback hat and looks the part of a Woodsman,’ Mr. Toad laughed and held his sides. ‘Who is that walking with him?’ Toady asked.

‘Greetings, the Old Man called out to his friends on the boat. I have my friend Frank N. Stein with me. May we come aboard,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘We are pleased to have been invited for this Sunday adventure,’ the Old Man announced. ‘I love the rain and cloud cover,’ the Old Man said. ‘I was born a week before Halloween,’ the Old Man noted. ‘The short days please my soul,’ OM said. ‘Frank was telling me about his Halloween plans,’ OM noted.

‘I am inviting you all to Ghost Stories in the Woods on Halloween night,’ Frank N. Stein said. ‘My Bride is making chili, and I am a popcorn ball expert,’ Frank said. ‘We will gather at the river’s edge and eat s’mores by the campfire, telling Ghost Stories,’ Frank said. ‘ We passed some ghost on the way to the river,’ Frank noted. ‘They told us that the Nuclear Clock had been moved up to 30 seconds to midnight,’ Frank continued. ‘The ghosts mentioned that they were from our near future,’ Frank N. Stein offered.

‘Hello, all, we are from your near future, where a nuclear warhead was launched and the world raced to fire their warheads at each other to be first in Armageddon,’ Casper said. The Woods were destroyed and the rivers set ablaze,’ Casper said with tears in his eyes. ‘The unthinkable happened, logical thinking shut down,’ Casper whispered. ‘There was no winner, only losers,’ Casper noted. ‘It was all war games and who had the most nukes until a madman pushed the button,’ Casper sat down, about to faint.

‘Hit the deck, you rubberneck,’ Neva J called out to wake Billy B. ‘You do not want to be late for school, the bacon is on a plate next to the coffee pot,’ Neva J informed. ‘President Kennedy said on television that the missile crisis is over, and I am glad, as we could not afford a bomb shelter,’ Neva J laughed. ‘How could leaders of nations rationalize such bizarre thinking,’ Neva J pondered.

Yesterday was a lovely experience. Morning coffee at the Lost Forest Coffeehouse and Pub to Birthday dinner at Global Gourmet. The birthday greetings on Facebook were more than the Old Man expected. Even a shot of Grey Goose to end the night from the owner of GG. Fun times as I begin my trek to 69.

At times, it seems a bit of a dream. How did I get here from there? There were many turns in the road. Hills and valleys in equal proportion. Faith and fear walk hand in hand. Mellow is the secret ingredient. We look for outside stimulants to bring us peace. There is a reason drinking is so popular. We have a bit of anxiety. We feel the need for an aid. Peace possesses our souls. Most things we worry about never happen. Throughout my life, many people have been kind to me.

‘I must admit I am a mellow fellow,’ Frankenstein admitted. ‘I like walking in the Woods with the Old Man,’ Frankenstein said. ‘Today we smoked some little fine cigars,’ Frankenstein reminisced. ‘I told him that cigars were good,’ Frankenstein laughed. ‘It is one of my most famous movie quotes,’ Frankenstein danced on one foot and then the other. ‘The Missus says I am too mellow and that I should get upset when someone wrongs me,’ Frankenstein observed. ‘I told her we are only human, or in my case, several humans.’ Frankenstein laughed heartily. ‘When I hurt someone’s feelings, I feel pain,’ Frankenstein noted. ‘I prefer picking flowers and photographing the changing autumn leaves,’ Frankenstein explained. ‘I am a strict observer of tea time as I am British,’ Frankenstein smiled thoughtfully.

‘Well, I love the Woods as well and all that it has to offer,’ the Wolfman said. ‘I am well read in the classics and walk with a gold-plated walking stick with an ivory skull’s head on top,’ the Wolfman noted. ‘The conflict with our human and animal nature is tricky at times,’ the Wolfman offered. ‘I like to moon watch,’ the Wolfman said with a smile. ‘When leaders proclaim that hurting other humans is good American and what the Bible teaches, I am saddened, the Wolfman quietly observed. ‘The Teacher told us to love others as we want to be loved,’ the Wolfman explained. ‘Mellow thoughts produce mellow actions,’ Wolfy said with a laugh.

‘We have some birthday presents for the Old Man, and Neva J has brought the Merlot,’ Badger said. ‘We will celebrate life while we are all still members of this mortal plane,’ Badger said. ‘Moley is coming and Mr. Toad, along with Chet Jane and Billy B.,’ Badger said. ‘It will be a grand party for our friends in the Wood and those in the city,’ Badger assured. ‘There will be much food and drink, good cheer and peace for all,’ Badger said with a laugh. ‘Fear and anxiety will have to wait at the door as we celebrate a sense of place and love for all,’ Badger promised.

The autumn wind gusted this morning. The Old Man listened to classical Christmas music. He thought of many things. He thought of a sense of place and a peaceful mind. A quiet mind creates peace. It is about receiving the world as it comes. No preconditions. No form to pour the concrete in. Quick to listen and slow to conspire. The peaceful mind is not troubled by what others think.

All our loved ones are with us. Their spirits are nearby. We feel alone, but are not alone.

‘Let’s have a Halloween Party that includes those who are left out,’ Billy B said. ‘A party for those who are seen but not heard,’ Billy B. continued. ‘Every member of our class is important,’ Billy B. continued. ‘Some of our classmates feel left out and lonely,’ Billy B. noted. ‘If we included them, we would have the benefit of their character, whimsy, and voice in our midst,’ Billy B. proclaimed.

‘I attended the Frankenstein movie at the Orpheum Theatre Saturday with Tommy L.,’ Chet said. ‘Tommy L. has a lot to say, and it is all interesting,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out Tommy L. is an expert on monster movies and Frankenstein in particular,’ Chet smiled. ‘His Dad is a Professor at Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale,’ Chet informed. ‘Tommy L. reads Physics and can explain it where I could understand it,’ Chet noted. ‘Tommy L. reads at a graduate student level,’ Chet said with a wink. ‘He is a lymerick master,’ Chet said with a chuckle.

‘Let us light the candles for Billy B.’s Birthday Cake,’ Neva J said with a lilt in her voice. ‘He is eight years old and full of precocious vigor,’ Neva J noted with a little dance. ‘It is 1965 and the world is his oyster,’ Neva J announced. ‘He is an old soul,’ Neva J advised.

‘Billy B. dances to his own drummer,’ Jane observed. ‘He watches as most introverts do,’ Jane continued. ‘He lights up when someone speaks to him and is an easy friend,’ Jane said. ‘He likes to take Polaroid Photos with his Big Swinger camera,’ Jane laughed. ‘I will say that still waters run deep,’ Jane noted.

Autumn temperatures are here, and a promise of frost tonight. The season quickens the step and calms the mind. October has its running shoes and will soon be at the finish line. In the halcyon days of Eldorado, Earl would be placing coal in the old coal stove in the evenings. There would be some Little Debbie Cakes with pumpkin on the kitchen table. The papers would be there, including the National Enquirer. As Neva J often told me, Hillary is running the White House according to that old Enquirer.

These were the days when Neva J. wondered if Uncle Gene was warm enough in the shack he lived in. She would dispatch Earl to check on Fetch, as she called him, and report back on his health and well-being. Uncle Gene lived by his wits. He trimmed trees and painted houses, and when I was very young, he was a TV Repairman. I loved watching him work on our television and test the vacuum tubes on his professional tester. Mr. Willis made his living repairing TVs. Old televisions were easy to repair for many years, unless the picture tube stopped functioning. The picture tube was where you watched the nightly news, Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom, and Lassie. Picture Tubes were expensive.

There were no Nintendo Switch games. I recall thinking Atari was something out of the Jetsons Cartoon. Pinball machines were our entertainment. The player hit a little metal ball with one of two flippers, and it bumped different scoring bumpers. The goal was to not let the pinball go down the shoot of the gravity-fed game by furiously pressing the button on the side of the large machine to cause the flipper to be manic in their pursuit of smacking the ball. The player had to be careful to not tilt the machine or game over.

Halloween and October were times to attend the Orpheum Theatre for a scary movie. The Son of Frankenstein was playing, and it was a delight. He wore a merino sweater. He smoked cigars with the old blind man and uttered the famous words, ‘Smoke good.’ Halloween was the opening event of the Christmas Holidays. We flew over Thanksgiving, as Neva J had to have all the time available for Christmas. Thanksgiving was the Macy Day Parade. No turkey, no giblet gravy, no pumpkin pie.

As the weather turned from fall to winter, I wore my hat, and the bill snapped onto the hat. I unsnapped it when I did not want to look like a ’60s Geek. The hat also had ear flaps that were affixed to the hat by some snaps, unsnapped, and pulled down a strap under your chin, and snapped again. A popular hat in the 60s.

The War in Vietnam was raging. The death count was shown on the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite each evening over dinner. President Johnson promised that with the next troop surge, we would be victorious. Fifty thousand Americans died. It was Halloween, and real life was a horror show while the Son of Frankenstein was good escapism.

Love is compelling. You know it when you see it. You know it when you feel it. At my first church service, I felt a deep sense of love. Love for me as a little person. 57 Seven years ago, I was a child with an old soul. I understood that following Christ’s message was a beautiful thing. My experiences in my youth provided me with a roadmap. No longer looking for the path, I found it. Treat others as I want to be treated. Turn the other cheek.

Fall is all around us. The beauty is dizzying. We search for Heaven while we are in the midst of it. It is the old saw that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Acceptance of a sense of place is rare. We are earthlings on Earth. We sow and reap. We gather the grain into our barns. We build bigger barns. Thanksgiving is coming. Baby Turkeys crossed the road on my way to the Woods. They were happy in their purpose and place. They are growing. I saw them in the summer, and they were smaller. They have a whiskey named after them. Their Thanksgiving is the joy of the Woods. They know their mama loves them. They are protected and safe from all harm.

How many of us feel unsafe? We are unheard and unseen, having no voice. We might be run over on the road if the cars do not slow down. We look to the lights of Halloween and the friendly scary blowmolds in our neighbors’ yards. I remember gathering candy with my blowmold pumpkin in Eldorado in the 60s. I was invited into a lovely home with mom and dad and the warm, inviting glow of the holidays. It felt safe. It had the joy of family. It had a sense of place.

The trees waved at the Old Man this morning. Their leaves released their grasp in multitudes. The long path yields the quickest results on the Walk-O Meter. Hills are good for burning calories. ‘I say there, OM, you are walking fast today,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘Have you a goal to attain?’ Mr. Badger asked. ‘When we arrive at the end of the long path, we will have Mr. Toad pick us up in the river boat,’ Mr. Badger remarked. ‘He loves messing about in boats,’ Mr. Badger said.

‘Ahoy mateys,’ Mr. Toad cried. ‘I am over here among the fall leaves,’ Mr. Toad laughed with gusto. ‘I was afraid I would be late to pick you chaps up as I had to stop and help Mrs. Hedgehog as her wheelchair tipped over in the mud,’ Mr. Toad explained. ‘Mrs. Hedgehog is in the boat with me,’ Toady smiled and danced. ‘She has brought a deck of cards and thought we might play a new game she has called Golf,’ Toady chuckled.

‘I don’t know what I would have done if Mr. Toad had not rescued me from the mud,’ Mrs. Hedgehog said with tears in her eyes. ‘Toady is a true gentleman and a credit to the church of England,’ Mrs. Hedgehog proclaimed. ‘The Weasel Family passed me by and called out cat calls to me as I lay in the mud,’ Mrs. Hedgehog noted. ‘They hooted and hollered and told me to call on my God to help me,’ Mrs. Hedgehog said. ‘Toady stopped and got his fine clothes dirty to extricate me from the mire,’ Mrs. Hedgehog explained.

‘Let us have a Halloween feast to commemorate Toady and Mrs. Hedgehog,’ Mr. Mole announced. The Old Man will read the proclamation,’ Mr. Mole said. ‘This will be a day above all days when the Christian Message of help thy neighbor was enacted in the Wood,’ Mr. Mole noted with pleasure. ‘No longer will the challenged among us be forgotten nor those without voice,’ Moley said as he wiped his spectacles clean.

Time is blowing like the leaves of the fall trees. I was so happy to see it arrive and now it is almost a month old. When it is two months old it feels like winter. Much of our lives have enjoyable short pleasures. We have to be ready to strike while the iron is hot. We must reach for the brass ring before the carousel does another revolution. We drink the fresh milk before it curdles. My birthday is Friday. I will be 68. The truth of my age does not seem real until I look at my reflection in the mirror. Who is the old man grinning back at me. MJ and I were talking in terms of decades of experience. You have to posses some grey hair to have the discussion. I remember the Ice Storm last winter. Limbs and tree trunks are still lieing in the Woods. As I sit and ponder I hear loud thuds that tell me trees really do fall in the woods.

‘I will make a fantastic birthday cake for the Old Man,’ Mr. Mole said. ‘He is a good friend and communes with us well,’ Mr. Mole continued. ‘I like the cut of his jib and he smokes an aromatic pipe tobacco,’ Mr. Mole laughed. ‘He says it is Autumn Harvest but I think he has some Turkish Delight mixed in the bowl,’ Mr. Mole postulated. ‘He is a commical sort with his big new leather hat and my how many photos he takes,’ Mr. Mole laughed. ‘It seems he takes pictures of the same things each day,’ Mole danced about in glee. ‘The Old Man has a passion for the Woods and photography that is unparralled,’ Mr. Mole proclaimed.

‘The Old Man talks to the trees and they have a vibrant conversation,’ Mr. Bager observed. ‘The trees know the Old Man by name and greet him each morning in the heat of summer and the ice of winter,’ Mr. Badger noted. ‘I am bringing him a present of a antique compass as Old Man has little sense of direction,’ Badger winked and smiled. ‘He bandys about with no thought of where he is and no worries of when he will return,’ Badger laughed. ‘The Old Man underatands us and he is a member of our Community,’ Mr. Badger proclaimed.

‘I have the most elegant of walking sticks for Old Man,’ Mr. Toad said with aplomb. ‘He and I have much in common as we are both Renaissance creatures,’ Mr. Toad announced. ‘Old Man will look like a Prussian Priest with my Birthday Gift,’ Mr. Toad proclaimed. ‘After we enjoy Birthday Dinner at the Global Gourmet and quaff Dirty Martinnis at the Global Gourmet we will ride in my new Motor Car,’ Mr. Toad danced on one foot and then the other. ‘Old Man enjoys a ride in a convertable motor car as it reminds him of his youth with Neva J and Chet in 1963 when they rode in Neva J’s 1957 Chevy convertable,’ Toady sang.

‘Welcome to the Birthday Party of the Old Man,’ said Mr. Rat. ‘Old Man is our friend and he understands us,’ Ratty uttered. ‘He has a new Leather Outback Hat and a L.L. Bean shirt with snaps and a leather pocket cover,’ Ratty observed. ‘Old Man has a word to say,’ Ratty noted.

‘I am here by God’s grace and your goodwill,’ the Old Man said with a lilt. ‘I have seen good times and bad but this birthday with Jennifer and Jonathon MJ and Aaron is the heighth of my Birthday Joy,’ the Old Man proclaimed. ‘Another 68 is in order God willing and the creeks dont’s rise,’ the Old man laughed and danced the Hora…

A perfect fall day. The air is crisp and inviting. The Woods are alive with the sound of music. The wind is gusting at 20 mph. Leaves are in full color. A rainbow of nature’s rest time.. Soon they will blanket the Woods ground. Trees will wave their bare limbs at each other.

Leaf Peepers are driving about. Last October, Margo Jeff, MJ Aaron, and Jonathon were looking for Maine fall leaves. We found many, but none were better than the Woods. It feels like October in Maine today.

Church is good and a settlement for the spirit. The camaraderie of others on the same journey is comforting. We humans are alike. Our Halloween masks are artificial and can be removed. No matter our rhetoric, we spend most of our lives living in our heads. Fear of change mortality looks out of our eyes. We need look no further than nature for answers. Fall brings us a glorious end to a season of life. Then the winter winds blow. Is it all over for the woods? No, it is only a new beginning. So it goes for us humans. Our ride is joyful and sad. It is full of memories and heartache. We laugh and cry. We stand on the mountaintop and look down into the valley.

Sometimes our skin does not fit. We wonder if we need a new suit. We look in the mirror and do not recognize the face staring at us. Worried we were about making a living, we forgot to make a life. The new leaves will pop out of the limbs in the spring. They will think that no leaf has been there before them. They will call out with gusto to the brown leaves on the ground. ‘Where did you come from and where have you been?’ New Leaf asks. ‘I am here to change the Woods,’ New Leaf proclaims. ‘There has never been a leaf like me before,’ New Leaf laughs. ‘All give me your attention and I will show you how to be a leaf,’ New Leaf says.