I'm on the net, reading, downloading library books, etc. My balcony door and my bedroom window are wide open. Alexa tells me it is 51 degrees F outside, but the wind is gusting fiercely and the sky is a uniform grey. It's chilly in here and I'm wearing a sweater and sipping hot coffee. The empty halyard on the flag pole across the street clangs against the pole and the tree branches clack against each other, and the few remaining leaves hang on for dear life. I could close up the apartment and turn on the heat and be cozy, but the sounds, the wind and the trees and the flagpole and an occasional lawn chair sliding across cement, a flower pot crashing off its pedestal, even the high pitched voice of my downstairs neighbor, bring me a sense of joy.
Visually, it could be described as gloomy, and once upon a time I would have bemoaned weather like this.
I listen to a Phil Collins recording that Glen posted and it reminds me of Ahmad Jamal jazz.
Thinking of Thanksgiving, I am grateful all my kids are smart and clever and funny and getting on with their lives. Seriously. And that I don't have to go to some Trough and Gobble with my sisters, nor to Jim's daughter's house for dinner tomorrow. I can do--or not do--whatever I like.
What else? I don't know. Just happy and content and enjoying the sound of the wind.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone I love.
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