Today is one of those neither one nor the other days. It was damp and cloudy when I left for breakfast and now the sun is making an appearance. The weather for today was described as maybe: maybe it will rain and maybe it won’t.

The roads were empty when I drove to breakfast. People seem to change with the weather. In summer we’re all so eager to enjoy every minute of the day we leap out of bed early so as not to miss a single ray. As the mornings grow colder, staying nestled under warm covers is too inviting and leaping out of bed seems foolhardy. The light dies early this time of year and the mornings come later. Darkness seems to bring a sort of lethargy.

The river was quiet when I drove across the bridge. The tide is too high for quahoggers, and the cloudy day has kept the boats at their moorings. Soon enough those boats will be hauled out of the water for winter. They’ll sit covered in tarps in boatyards and driveways. In time, snow will cover the tarps, and summer will be a warm memory stored away, like the boats, for the winter. But summer will have its turn again. The boats will be back in the water, and every morning we’ll leap out of bed and greet the beauty of a warm, sunny day.

On the way back from breakfast, I stopped to let people, mostly couples, cross the street from the parking lot to the church. They looked old, even by my standards, and all of them were dressed the way we used to be when we went to church. The men sported jackets and ties and pants with perfect creases. The women wore dresses and hats, small, unobtrusive hats. As I sat there, the church bells began to peal. They weren’t loud, but they were perfect, “Church bells chiming on a Sunday morn.” I smiled the most contented of all smiles.