I lost a bracelet.
It was not an expensive bracelet, but it was a favorite of mine.
It was silver with colored beads and charms.
There were three charms: an anchor, a cross, and a heart.

Faith.
Hope.
Love.
But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13)

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I ordered a dress from an online store.
I was excited to get it, but knew that I would have to wait over a week for it to arrive.
To my delighted surprise, the package came earlier than expected.
I quickly opened it, knowing the exact boots and scarf that I would wear with the dress.

Upon opening the package, I discovered that it was not my dress.
What should have been blue was red; what should have been my size was not.
The name on the package was mine; the invoice reflected the item I ordered.
The dress belonged to someone else.

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I was watching the children play on the playground while I waited for the light.
It happens to be a long traffic light in a school zone so it affords me a lingering glance.
The children were carefree, enjoying the fall day, being chased by imaginary enemies.
They tested their climbing prowess and their upper arm strength on the monkey bars.

Wistful for a moment for that time again.
Time to go to the neighborhood library, which is down the road.
Time to go to that “castle park” as it was rightfully named.
My children called it that since it seemed to have towers and turrets and a drawbridge.

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Even though you think you know someone, there is inevitably something new you learn.
Such was the case with one of my daughters.
We were out to breakfast and in the middle of a conversation,when I mentioned it.
I decided to have a small bowl of cereal with a banana.

I peeled the banana and proceeded to break off the end.
I sliced the rest on the top of my cereal.
She was watching me.
There are two things I never eat: the top of a banana and the point of a pickle, I said.

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On my morning walk, the trees are beginning to change color.
They have not reached the level of spectacular yet.
They appear to be blushing.
Red and orange just beginning to burst forth.

I can see the progress of the change in the leaves each morning.
I am enthralled.
I am witnessing the palette of the Master Artist.
His Perfect brush strokes give us pleasure and give Him glory.

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The back to school aisles are picked over.
The school supplies are dwindling down.
The shelves that were well stocked just weeks before are beginning to look empty.
These same shelves will hold Christmas decorations very soon.

Don’t you love New York in the fall?
It makes me wanna buy school supplies.
I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils…
So says the fictional character, Kathleen Kelly.

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I heard the sound as I walked.
My foot kicked something as I was coming around a curve.
I looked ahead of me and saw something roll down the gentle slope.

An acorn.

I watched it as I walked along.
It just kept rolling ahead of me.
I smiled thinking that it was as if I was playing a catch me if you can game.

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I was thinking of the calluses on his hands, which is what happens to drummers.
Calluses are thick, hardened layers of skin.
They develop when your skin tries to protect itself against friction and pressure.
They are painful at first but then they act as a sort of protection, a toughening.

I would always comment that his hands matched his personality.
Strong and gentle.
A wonderful combination.
His hands tell his story.

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Fall is coming.
To a person who loves summer, that statement does not produce warm, fuzzy feelings.
Fall means cooler weather which becomes colder weather which often means snow.
The cooler weather followed by the cold weather makes me happy.

That is not typical, I know.
I associate fall with things that make me smile.
Spectacular colors, chilly nights, and squirrels gathering nuts for the winter.
Preparation.

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I pass the picture as I come downstairs each morning.
A lovely, numbered print of a stone barn; much like I see as I drive the nearby roads.
The picture is of an historic 1787 barn.
The artist captured its beauty in 1987; painting the picture 200 years after it was built.

I find myself glancing at the print as I enter my foyer.
The serenity of the place seems to call to me.
I can feel the cool stone as I imagine running my hand over the barn wall.
I try to envision the owners of the barn and what kind of life they lived there.

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