Friends, Fall is here. I am gladdened by the sweaters, the pots of butternut squash soup, and the chill wind. I took a walk tonight in my black rubber boots, tromp, tromp, tromping around the neighborhood. The wind blew my hair around my face, pushed me to walk a bit more briskly and reddened my cheeks. I am now back in the house where Matt and I are going about our business in the living room in our respective chairs. He's drawing, I'm writing, we laugh occasionally. Candles are glowing, the heat has been turned on and is gradually, gently warming the place, and a cup of darjeeling is on the table next to me. We are watching the live concert of "Appalachian Journey," an album recorded years ago by Mark O'Connor, Edgar Meyer and Yo-Yo Ma. They just played my favorite selection, "Misty Moonlight Waltz." It cries sweetly, floats effortlessly, and seems to go on forever, which I don't suppose I'd mind. If this computer in my lap were instead a good book, the picture of this evening would be perfect.
