The Sun is beginning to down each day noticeably—ever-thievingly—earlier here now at this point of autumn.  There’s no getting used to it—the season is shifting too quickly, most quickly just about now, and the seasonal remnants of summer are soon doomed to disappear.  Even a current quirky late spate of yet 80+ degree days now in mid-October here in the Midwest, too, will soon just be a memory.

But tomorrow is still a summer-holdout and promises to be a grand day for a picnic: lower to mid-80s, a fair amount of sunshine, with gentle refreshing breezes.  I’ll bring the bottles of red wine, cheeses, crackers, assorted sushi, and pasta salad.  O, and I’ll bring a light blanket, too, for us to lay upon.  And I’ll even pick the spot: somewhere under a tall pine that’s amidst obelisks upon the now grass-covered, once-glacial ridge of Dreamland serenely looking over the Lake of Erie—or—down from the ridge and onto the pasture aligning twin ponds; ponds where the water lilies tangle, the large orange carp are visible in the shallow, clear waters and the geese and duck care-freely still laze about—or—across from the upper pond and aside the lush low-lying meadows that court the stream (that feeds the ponds) and that’s down-water a quarter mile from the huge, majestic dam that was built to hold back a thousand-year flood that’s yet to come—or—in a shady, secret spot that Time has long forgot, much farther upstream and above the dam, at the waterfall where dreams, that once floated in the living imaginations of long-gone dreamers like surreal clouds, yet seem to flicker in the deep furtive rushing, swirling of the waters cascading downwards and then whitewatering a length of rapids before disappearing around a bend and out of sight.

It will be a magnificent day for a mid-autumn picnic.  I know it and would love to share the experience.  So…what’s up with you?