It rained lightly last night as we slept, fitfully tossing about in bed due to over-full bellies and heads full of fun from Thanksgiving Dinner. A fine time to walk this morning, the air soft and moist, clouds overhead, colors looking saturated and rich. 


A woman I know from the neighborhood stopped as I sat sipping my morning coffee in front of the cafe. “Aren’t you cold?” she said. “No, not at all. It’s too beautiful out today to sit inside, particularly after yesterday’s fest with friends. How was your holiday?” And with that we chatted for ten minutes, enjoying stories of Thanksgiving Days past. 

I left a little bit later, passing by another friend’s house on the way home. She was there at the kitchen table in the window, along with her friend who helps take care of her husband. She waved me over. More family, stories of the the feast, stories of pranks. Others on their morning walks joined us … half in the house, half outside on the porch. A patrol car driving through flashed his lights, we all waved, he waved back and I was handed a big mug of coffee to give him. 

I walked on, the quiet light still glowing long past the time on a clear day it would have been to harsh to make a photograph. And this red arc of leaves presented itself for my enjoyment. 

Like another time, in a mind far far away: sometimes the neighborhood is just as it always was. 

It’s good to see that there is such strength all around us.