We had sun then clouds then the sun came back but only for a bit as the clouds right now seem more insistent. The breeze is strong. It is 73° and won’t get much warmer. Nala and Henry are asleep on the couch, their usual morning ritual. I am about to have my second cup of coffee and maybe an English muffin. I have fig jam.

When I was a kid, even common things filled me with awe. Back then I didn’t know the word awe, but I knew the feelings which seemed to defy description. They filled my everywhere. I knew that clouds and stars and the sun and moon sometimes stopped me in my tracks. I’d lie on the grass and watch the clouds. I’d see a dog or a head or a horse and more as the clouds moved. At night I’d check the man in the moon. Many nights his mouth was open as if in surprise. I could see the Milly Way on clear nights when stars filled the sky, and their light made shadows on the ground. Sunsets were orange and red and yellow. The colors filled the whole sky. In the morning the sun slowly rose with more of it appearing as it grew bigger and brighter. Sometimes the sun and moon shared the sky. I imagined their conversations about how everything went as one took over the sky from the other.

When I was older, I got busy. My view of the world shifted, got more grounded but no less wonderful, just different. I was into clothes, though not much, nights out, movies, music and hanging around with friends. They were the best friends. We laughed a lot and found ways to entertain ourselves, to find adventure, to celebrate life. I remember in high school we sneaked picnic food in our school bags to the top floor of the library and ate sitting on the floor surrounded by the stacks of books. We wandered Harvard Square, visited the museums and saw movies at the Brattle Theater. We were explorers.

Since then my life has gone through so many cycles. I could spend days describing Ghana and the wonder of it. I have so many stories about the high school kids I once taught and the ones who got sent to my office. I love all of them.

I am so much older now. I now count my life in filled dance cards. Awe has returned. I pulled my car into a rest area last week so I could watch the sunset. The sky was pink. I stand on the deck and some mornings can smell the ocean. I do nothing some days and love every lazy minute. I can actually play a musical instrument. Life still surprises me.

The day is beautiful. The darkness of yesterday has given way to a bright sun and a blue sky. It is 74°, a perfect temperature. Last night was cool, down to the mid 60’s. I easily fell asleep.

When I was a kid, fall meant darkness came earlier every day. After school there wasn’t much time to play or bike ride or wander a little before the streetlights came on, and we had to go inside to get ready for supper. We’d watch TV while my mother finished getting supper ready. I remember the sound of her mashing the potatoes. The masher would clink when it hit the side of the pan. The hot vegetables were in pans sitting on the stove. They’d be corn or peas or green beans. I remember ground beef in gravy topping the mashed potatoes. That was one of my favorite suppers. I’d mix in the peas. It wasn’t pretty. We’d watch TV after supper. My father always came home late, too late to sit with us at supper. He was a salesman, and his territory was the south shore, a long ride away. In my mind’s eye I see him wearing a top coat and a fedora when he came in the front door.

Because at this time of year the mornings kept the evening chill, my mother would force me to wear a sweater to school because my uniform blouse had short sleeves. I’d ditch the sweater for the walk home. After school, every kid in the world had to change from school clothes to play clothes. I’d change into girls’ dungarees, the sort with a zipper in the front pocket, a jersey, a light jacket or a sweatshirt and sneakers, dirty white sneakers with pointed toes. Sometimes, when it got colder, I’d wear flannel lined dungarees with a pocket zipper, the start of my cozy clothes.

I vacuumed this morning. That high pitched squeal you might hear is my sloth complaining. I feel it’s pain.