it is rare that grocery shopping delivers such gloriousness. really, i would say, it is never. even though i celebrate the tiniest things - like a minimally-loaded cart that doesn't add up to over $100. rare, like i said. but on this day - walking out of woodmans market - into the early evening, ten minutes before 5pm on the first day post-time-change - we both stopped in our tracks.

dogga must have known. he woke us up well before the sun: it was time for his breakfast, for our coffee, for him to go out and about in the backyard. but it was still dark and the sun still had some coming-up to do. he must have known, though. somehow, in his dogga-dogga heart, he knew it had snowed. not a lot of snow, really, truly, just a little, a dusting.

i would not think twice about using this emergency life ring were someone to be thrashing about in the cold water of the harbor below the dock. i'd quickly read the instructions and throw out the rope to anyone - ANY one - who might be drowning or even flailing, trying to survive. i have no doubt that most of the people i know would do the same; they would not ignore the seriousness of a person in extreme need of help.

they were luminescent as the noon sun caught them in its grasp. magical. glowing. each individual seed seemed poised for takeoff, ready to catch the breeze, twirl and fly. it is much like how i am feeling as i painstakingly go through the house ... the bedrooms, the attic, the basement ... the memories all gather on the plume, ready to catch the next breeze and twirl in front of me, bringing me back to moments a long while ago - many decades or even just a few years.

"life is only a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see." (trudy symeonakis vesotsky) when i started my first teaching job - at a K-2 primary school in the poorest part of a county in florida - i found out quickly that the previous teacher had a favorite record album that she played over and over and over. i'm not sure how much music teaching she did, but i know that she played this record for every class, every day.

this is the best place to think. it's the best place to ponder, to wonder, to sort, or to just - simply - take one step after another. it's the best place to be quiet and the best place to have conversation. we link arms. we walk. and walk. and walk. we can see why pct hikers keep on going. it is cleansing and powerful.

on the same night we waltzed in the rain, we strolled up and down main street, window-shopping. we were too drenched to go in anywhere and that wasn't the point anyway. we just wanted to etch it all - best as we could - memorize it. the harbor had always been a refuge and i was grateful to see the post at the information booth - in several languages - declare…

with what seemed a millisecond between seasons, it is - clearly - fall now. i had a list of places to go, places to show d. but the tropical storm/nor'easter put a crimp in all that. planting fields, millneck manor, blydenburgh park, hecksher park, every beach on both shores, out east - it was all on the list. but the reality was that both time and good weather were limited.

i could see the maple tree up over the roof of the house. it had really grown a lot in the decades since our family lived there. i thought about all the time i had spent in that tree...an innocent poet trying to piece together the world, make sense of it. back then, i was proud to spend time with my family, my beloved dog missi, on the piano bench or the organ bench or tucked against the trunk of my tree, riding my bike (or, later, driving my little vw bug) to the beach or the harbor, studying, doing homework.

littlebabyscion stayed home. good thing. we would have been dwarfed in the middle of all the trucks on the highway going into the city. at least big red had a bit more presence than LBS would have had. even so, it was like being in a cave - we couldn't see anything else but the trucks. no view, no signs, nothing.

i hadn't had manhattan clam chowder in forever. but it was on the menu and the day in the village was sunny. with the scent of fresh bread baking wafting around us, we ordered a couple bowls and a couple kaiser rolls. we took it all outside to a tiny bistro table on the street next to the harbor. if we could, we would go back today.

it made me cry. it was all i could do not to down-and-out messy cry. had i lost control it would have been ugly. i grieved for every single american child as i struggled and hiccuped my way back to some semblance of calm. phil vassar's lyrics were poignant and profound and deeply troubling. the concert was amazing. phil vassar is a prolific songwriter, a consummate performer, his voice strong, his ballads clear.

we had the gazebo all to ourselves. it is likely that the tropical-storm-nor'easter had something to do with this. no one seemed inclined to be strolling about, nonetheless lingering on the gazebo. so we danced. on the rain-soaked boards of this beautiful age-old gazebo, we waltzed to the music on my phone - the cherish the ladies instrumental if ever you were mine…

even in torrents of rain i wanted him to hear the clanking of metal-rigged sails. even in torrents of rain i wanted him to sit on the benches and watch the water. even in torrents of rain i wanted him to feel the dark sky blanket this harbor. the design of the small pavilion at the end of the dock has stood the test of time - this slip-less harbor site where most boats are moored off-dock, with skiffs back and forth.

"the smallest act of kindness is worth more than the greatest intention." (khalil gibran) it had been a long day. a very long day that was preceded by other very long days. we were tired and road-weary. the last couple hours were brutal. at one point i just wanted to stop in the middle of a dark intersection and weep. we kept on.

the business was closed as we walked by on the sidewalk. the luminescent sunset over the harbor was beckoning. but i stopped when i saw the sign - facing out the window: "work hard and be kind". i'm not sure what kind of office it was - maybe a realtor, maybe insurance, i don't know. it doesn't matter, though.

if he were still in this plane of existence, my sweet poppo would be 105 today. as much as i miss my dad, as much as i would love to sit with him, to talk with him, to be quiet with him, to hug him, under the circumstances that we find ourselves in this country at this time, i would have to say i am glad he is not here.

it's a two-sided coin. these stunning plumes rise above the grasses, catching the breezes, the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks, a place for lagging butterflies to linger a moment, catch their breath. but - the tiny seeds that form these stunning plumes are actually tiny swords that find their way onto clothing and dogga and into every manner of places and stab us time and again.

the sweet potato plant is answering the call to fall. it keeps on growing, sending new shoots, vining out. it also is starting to change color. its rainbow hues draw our attention. our sweetly-screaming woke sweet potato. and i don't know if your sweet potato is as colorful. is it still all a rich green? are its leaves curling at all?

the jeep's tirecover in the meijer's parking lot made me stop: "spread good vibes" taking out my phone to take a picture, i said to d, "now there's a good monday merely-a-thought! we could totally be friends with them!" he laughed and agreed, "definitely!" i love when people put positive messages out there. so much better than the vehicles - with stickers of words or lewd cartoon images - messages that say…

i suppose in-disbelief would also apply. and horrified. and sickened. frustrated, repulsed, outraged, heartbroken, scared, exhausted, disoriented... ...overwhelmed. ***** read DAVID's thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING like. share. subscribe. support. comment. - thank you. xoxo buymeacoffee

from "i'm so excited. i hope i can sleep! see you tomorrow...." "i'll see you in baggage claim. i'll be the one holding the daisy." to "i take you to be my wife. i will share my life with you tenderly and fiercely. i will love you and cherish you in all ways for always." "i take you to be my husband.

by the time it was late enough to see both, we were tired. saturn and the moon were supposed to be sharing close space in the night sky, but it was cloudy and we seriously needed to sleep. the show went on without us, somewhere behind the clouds a glorious celestial ballet. and the universe carries on with universe stuff. our planet earth still rotates on its axis and moves through its elliptical revolution around the sun with gravity keeping us in check in the solar system.

there were multiple times - when my sweet momma was here on this earth - that i brought her yellow roses. they were something special between us - an expression of love between mother and daughter. yellow roses have a different significance than red. they are indicative of friendship, the deep bonds of love, warmth and joy, fresh starts, gratitude, hope.

the headline on the catalog page read: don't just go somewhere. be somewhere. i lounged in the gravity chair on our deck and looked up. just beyond the peaked roof of our house, inbetween the pine tree and our westneighbor's tv antenna, with the wire that stretches across our driveway stretched right through it, there it was: the clouds had drawn the sun.