The husband of my wife’s favorite cousin passed away last night. The software I’m using to write this suggests I simply say he died. It feels a little abrupt. Passing away implies a continuation of a journey, which is something I’m certain he believed. So, I’m going to stick with that.

Another brisk morning. There’s the smell of smoke from my neighbor’s woodburning stove. A little clutch of deer is grazing along the fence. The first hints of traffic are moving down highway 290. The air is clear, and a waning moon is hanging in the western sky.

It’s a nice feeling in the bed beneath the covers in the dark on a cold morning. Everything feels just right. It’s that magical time before you’re born again into a new day.

Our big flame leaf sumac finally gave us a show of color this year, less the scarlet seen on a few of its roadside cousins, but enough red and yellow to qualify as a fall spectacle.

Made a dessert yesterday. Basically flour, butter, pecans, cream cheese, whipped cream, and chocolate pudding, all layered up. By name, we called it Cajun Delight, partly I think because, butter.

It’s Sunday and the big four-day weekend is nearly over. Thanks has been given for family, friends, and whatever blessings have fallen my way.

An internal debate is raging. Outside Christmas lights. No Outside Christmas lights. At the moment, the no’s are in the ascendancy. That could change with the weather.

For two years or maybe three I’ve stared at two spots, one on the wall in my bedroom and one in the bathroom, that needed retouching.

The winds are restless. They blew yesterday and they’re blowing hard today. Somethings up. I hope it’s a big weather event. That would be nice.

I had an insight yesterday. Shared it. Got a good response. Lots of compliments. Terrific ego boost. I would like to follow up with something equally thrilling today. There’s only one problem…

This might be strange. Bear with me. Imagine, if you will, the fabric of space and time, filling the universe in all directions. Then imagine a person moving through it. In the imagining, focus on the force of life that binds all the physical molecules of that person together, so that the image of the person is simply light.

I’m on schedule to miss Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. Too much risk for these old bones. I’m sure I’ll be argued with, and there’s probably some sort of risk aversion analysis to prove I’m being overly cautious, but I’d rather hear Ruthie Foster sing about when death comes knocking than actually have it happen.

It is hard to type with a cat in your lap. But when its just you and the cat, the cat gets attention. No complaints really, it’s actually nice. Mama Cat comes in for breakfast and starts wanking at me until I pick her up.

I stood in the sun yesterday on the southern porch. I had stopped, on a tour of the grounds, to admire the three lavender plants thriving there. It was a cool day and a winter sun.

The Ficus is in. Winter has officially started. Under the previous administration there would have been an accompanying array of plants to bring to shelter.

There is no time to waste. It is just past 6 a.m. I have to be in Boerne at 9, which means I have to leave the house by eight. That gives me an hour, less now, to write this, publish, eat breakfast and dress.

This is what I call winter. It’s 36 outside. We could still use some rain, and I have no idea if any is in the immediate forecast. At this point, I’m pretty sure I don’t care.

I’m untethered. For two years the poles of my universe alternated between home and a memory care facility down the road in Fredericksburg. I oriented my life to that town, shopping, medicine, everything.

Back in the days of us, my wife did most of the plant shopping. I did the plant planting. She’d set them out. I’d dig the holes and put them in the ground.

I always visit my books on Veterans day, writings about men at war. Granted, I enjoy seeing all the pictures of fresh-faced soldiers, my parents and grandparents included, but they only tell part of the story.