Two Autumns

As I sit here with my coffee, munching my granola of oats, nuts and dried fruit, I can't help thinking how the change of season makes me want to eat things made with Velveeta and cream of something soup. Oooooh, or with condensed cheddar cheese soup and sour cream. Maybe there is some way to get some home made egg noodles in there, too. I don't have any particular recipe in mind, you understand. I just want a bunch of stuff that isn't really good for me. This urge must be left over from when humans had to fatten up for the winter - you know, before pizza was delivered. 

Maybe it has more to do with my mood, which on a scale of one to ten has lately been stuck on suckwad. Can't sleep then sleep through a day or two, I'm pretty sure the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train, and I'm surrounded by things I have to do and I don't have the energy or the focus to do them. 

Honest to gourd, it took me two hours to figure out how to return a dress. Let me just add that the reason I had to return it is because it is too small and the only dresses I can find for an upcoming event that will fit me look like they're made for a sixty year old woman! Oh, yeah, and then there's that. Sixty? Really? Who in the world said that it would be okay for my next birthday to be sixty? 

My phone is dead because I left my charging cord at my sister's house. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to call her to tell her that. And the ants that are moving into the kitchen refuse to pay rent. 

I promised myself that if I got up and had a cup of coffee, I could go back to bed. My purple desk, where I'm now having my second cuppa, is under two windows where birds often come to visit and which give me an excellent view of the area from the shoulders up. 

The leaves are now mature green, not the chartreuse green of spring which look ever up to the sky, but a confident, emerald green. Here and there are clusters of bright orange or yellow and against the pure, clear blue sky they look almost too real. With the slightest hint of a breeze, the leaves turn to encourage their neighbors. They whisper among themselves about the next big adventure. Then they look back down toward Earth without hurry, without angst, but with surety and confidence. 

I should live long enough to be as wise as these old oaks.