The morning is fall chilly at 55°. The day is lovely. The sky is the deepest blue with no clouds, and the sun is squint your eyes bright. The deck is covered in fallen yellow leaves. Some are still bright while others are brown with curling edges. The birds are back. Two feeders are empty. I’ll fill them in a bit.

When I was a kid, I did pretty much the same thing every day. I ate breakfast, got dressed, walked to school, learned, ate lunch, had recess, learned some more then walked home, but I never thought my life was routine. It was often filled with the unexpected amid the usual. I’d find the perfect yellow or red leaf and press it in my school book to save it. At home, I’d iron it between sheets of wax paper. I’d make an art piece. On my walk, I’d notice the Halloween decorations in the windows of the houses I passed. I’d see witches on brooms, ghosts and pumpkins. I’d learn something new every day. I’d sometimes find a surprise in my lunch, a Hostess cupcake. I’d take off the frosting. It usually came off in a single piece. I’d eat around the cream then I’d eat the cream followed by the frosting. It was my best cupcake technique practiced and honed over time. After school we’d play outside, go back in, watch TV, eat dinner, watch TV again then go to bed where I’d read a little before turning out the light. Life was seldom boring. It was one of the joys of being a kid.

In Ghana, I knew my life was never routine despite the sameness of each weekday. I ate eggs and toast for breakfast and fruit for lunch every day. Suppers didn’t vary much either. I remember walking each morning across the school compound from my house to the classroom block. I never took even that short walk for granted. I was always aware of how unique my life was. All that childhood wonder had returned.

Today is cooler than it has been, down to the 60’s, more seasonable weather. The day is pretty with lots of sun glinting through the leaves on the oak trees in the backyard. The sky is a light blue. The breeze is blowing the leaves at the ends of the branches. This morning the nuthatches are back to the feeders. I always watch the birds while my coffee is brewing.

Last night, I went out on the deck with the dogs just before we went to bed. The night was still warm. I noticed something white on the part of the driveway in the backyard. I had to check. Nala had stolen a cookbook from one of the boxes here in the den. The book was a Christmas gift from my sister. It is called Recipes from the Stone Zoo. I thought it funny that she chose a book from my hometown with zoo in the title, a bit psychic I think.

I used to watch my father rake the leaves into a pile on the road beside the gutter. He always wore his red jacket. He’d burn the leaves. White smoke rose from the fire. The aroma of the burning leaves filled the air. My father would stand with rake in hand to tend his fire. It is one of my favorite memories.

My mother would turn on the heat this time of year. We had an oil burning furnace and a tank to hold the oil in the cellar. The truck would come by to fill the tank. The truck was loud. The oilman wore heavy gloves. His clothes had oil stains. He would drag his hose to the capped opening on the side of the house. It always took a while. The unpleasant smell of the oil filled the air outside and the air in the cellar. I thought that the oilman and the garbage man had the worse jobs.

My dance card has one more event for the week, another concert tomorrow. Yesterday’s concert was in Orleans. I took the long way home, by Rock Harbor then on to 6A. The ride was a delight. It was a warm day, and I had the window open. Some trees are still brilliant, especially the reds. Leaves fell slowly, but constantly. Some of the branches are already bare. Autumn flowers graced gardens. The grasses in the marshes are turning brown. I saw one cranberry bog being harvested, a late harvest. The bright red cranberries were floating on the water. It was the perfect fall ride, bright and beautiful.