autumn leaves, newly planted green grass


The coffee in my cup, this morning, is left over from late last night, liberally diluted with whole milk. Not bad, really. I can get it down. However, my next cup will be from Toddy coffee concentrate. And milk.

The keyboard on my new computer has back lighting that I can turn off and on. I can sit in my recliner chair/bed and write with the ceiling and floor lamps switched off. I am finding many hidden treasures in this cheap relatively inexpensive machine.

On the street outside my window, a huge crow pecking and picking up some treasure. A pickup truck has just come by and disturbed Crow. Evidently not something to return for.

One of my mother’s mass mailings to myself and my siblings included a humorous observation with regard to my father, yesterday, which I have turned into what I loosely term a poem:autumn leaves, newly planted green grass

“Himself at (almost) 99 Years”

When last seen, barely hanging
onto life, old enough to die,
angry, and yes, he said, too
tired to move from off his bed.

Now again espied, he’s spent
two hours raking out a rock
garden and the two-lot yard,
filling 20 bags with leaves and
started hauling them away.

What wonders come from too much
time that’s spent in idleness,
staring at the ceiling and
muttering about the aches
that he now cheerfully ignores.

Copyright © 2015-10-24, by myself.


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