I woke up to a dark, damp morning. I asked my Alexa the time. She said good morning. It is 11:25. I was shocked. I can’t remember the last time I slept so late, but now, after a cup of coffee, I am better suited to face the day.

The rain started a little while back. I’m happy for the rain. It has been a long while. I closed the window behind me. I could feel the cold, damp breeze on my back. I’m not complaining though. I’m glad for the chill.

I remember how excited I was for the first day of school. I didn’t have new school clothes; instead, I had a new uniform, a white blouse, blue skirt and a blue tie, a cowboy bow tie which clipped to my collar. My shoes were usually sturdy as my mother hoped they would last most of the school year. My socks changed with the seasons, short socks when it was warm and knee socks when it was cold. When I was young, on really cold days, I used to wear snow pants under my skirt. I wasn’t a fan. It took a while to undress in the cloak room and hang up the pants. I’d have to sit on the floor and pull them off. One year my mother found pink longish underwear. It came to my knees.

Okay, back to the first day. I always had a new lunch box. When I was young, it was a character box. One year I had a Mouseketeers’ box. It was talent roundup day. When I was a bit older, I went with designs. I remember a red and black plaid lunch box. That was in the fourth grade. My usual lunch was a sandwich and cookies for desert. We could buy milk. In the winter, my mother sometimes gave us soup and Saltines. I remember chicken noodle was my favorite. Sometimes, though, the noodles plopped into the thermos cup and my blouse would get a few drops of soup on the front.

I always got a new pencil box, a box of crayons and a school bag. I used to practice putting the pencil case into the bag and putting the bag across my shoulder. I wanted to be ready for that first day.

The morning is ugly, hot, cloudy and humid. It will stay the same all day. The only saving grace is a small breeze. This is weather befitting August, not September. The dogs aren’t enjoying the weather much either as they come inside panting. I figure they’ll spend the day napping.

The morning is quiet. I don’t hear any voices, any dogs barking or even any cars driving by. Every now and then I can hear the sweet music from the chimes hanging on trees in the backyard. I think the thick air is muting sounds.

Henry is a strange dog, has always been a strange dog. His latest fear is the den light. Its cord is in a power strip but it is loose. Every now and then the light blinks a few times when the cord is moved. Henry jumps off the couch and starts barking every time.

I walk better than I have been walking, but my leg still hurts. The doctor did say 3-5 weeks, and this is week 3, I think. I have lost track of time. Being inside and seeing no one has me losing track of the world. I talk on the phone to people who call to check up on me, but that is my only connection. I am a sort of Robinson Caruso without a Friday.

I have no inclination to do anything. I much prefer fighting for space on the couch. My defense is my leg feels best when I sit so this is a matter of health, not laziness.

When I was a kid, fall was my favorite season. The weather was a delight. The air was clear of summer’s humidity. The light had a sharpness. Everywhere I walked I saw beauty, the colors of the leaves. They seemed to surround me. My favorites were the orange-red leaves. I used to choose the best ones. I’d place the leaves on wax paper, cover them with the paper and iron. The leaves were bright and beautiful forever.