It is a cloudless, warm day and the leaves have turned brilliant oranges and reds. As I lie on the couch with my computer on my lap, a bank of maple trees catching the afternoon sun reflects so vividly on my computer screen it is impossible to write more than a sentence or two before refocusing my eyes to take in the shimmering, brightly colored leaves.
If I pause for longer my screen saver kicks in, displaying a random sequence of favorite family photos including one sent by Hannah just this morning of Cambridge University’s Darwin College, where punters navigate the River Cam outside the back door to Newnham Grange, Hannah’s new digs.
Just off screen to the left, on the floor, lies Misha, our Pomeranian. She’s tired but as far as we can tell suffering no ill effects from a 5.2 mile hike we took yesterday to the top of Mt. Abraham (@4,000 ft). It was a gorgeous day to be out, a gorgeous day to be on top of a mountain (where we were buzzed by a glider that flew so close we could clearly see the pilot’s face), and where we passed an assortment of gorgeous women and men on the trail not one of whom had the slightest interest in checking out Susan or me but thought Misha was the cutest thing since Shirley Temple.
And then there are my words appearing on the screen as I type, which are sooooo black and white, even as beautiful images flood my consciousness. There is no music in my life today and I don’t miss it a bit. All the melodies and harmonies are visual.