The house is quiet this morning. The daughter and her family pulled out yesterday at noon for home.

Outside, a soft cold rain is falling. Morning is coming ever so gently into the room. The sink is full of dishes.

It’s a wonderful fall morning. The air is clear and cold. There’s a scattering of clouds where the morning sun can play. The day feels filled with promise.

On the ring finger of my right hand, starting at the inside and just below the crease of the middle joint of my ring finger is the beginnings of a scar.

Over the weekend I pretended I was a young man and donned my road warrior gear.

Word has a new look. Yippee. I’ve been through more new looks over the years than I can count.

Travel days. Into Austin last night for music. Fredericksburg this evening for more of the same. Houston on Friday for football.

It is hard to believe Thanksgiving is almost upon us. But there it is, and my preparations continue.

The festooning has started. The icicle lights I bought new in 2019 are hung from the gutters with care.

I love to travel, but it’s good to be home.

Last month as I prepared to sing in public, as amateurs occasionally do, I decided to dust off an old song I once sang.

I’ve been listening to a song recently, If the World Was Ending.

It’s amazing how much energy is bundled up in the body of a child.

This is weird. My word processing software is now suggesting words to me as I type.

We fell back last night. I bet the earth, sun and stars never even noticed.

The father of a friend passed away yesterday. He was 93.

This certainly feels like winter in Texas. My fancy watch says it’s 48.

My weekend buzz took a hit yesterday.

I’ve just come off a great weekend. Music, friends, laughing children. All the things that bring me joy.

It will be a good day. No matter what. I stepped outside for my winter morning ritual, the soul cleansing dip into cold air. It was there.