As I write, the house is being floated by tiny speaks of gold—magical rays of sun purging the usual gloominess; dancing above the once again blooming geranium... 
The birds are as happy as they can be and the sky, amazingly blue and clear as it could be. I can hear my little feathered friends chirping happy songs, they’re everywhere, making the red leaves fall… While contemplating my world outside the window, I’m listening to the pure, haunting tone of the Native American flute and lush harmonies of strings of classic Nakai melodies from one of my favorite CDs. It feels so peaceful, and I’m basking in the serene atmosphere surrounding me... 
Until...
All of the sudden a unanimous flapping of wings...
A new air, frigid and unfriendly, sweeps the garden floor…
I looked around trying to find the source of the sudden tremor…. until I saw her…
“Morning”—again in my garden, again frightening my birds away…. She swiftly moves, creeping, like a reptor, so as to hide from her victims, and waits patiently amidst the silent butterfly bushes….
“Morning”, is how I’ve named my new kitty friend. As I don’t know her real name, or who she belongs to or where she comes from, she is mine... and that’s the name I’ve chosen for her…. She seems to love my garden. I’ve seen her on many occasion basking in the sunshine among the faded roses, laughing at the birds, under the bushes, or like today, suddenly emerging… from nowhere.
All of the sudden a unanimous flapping of wings...
A new air, frigid and unfriendly, sweeps the garden floor…
I looked around trying to find the source of the sudden tremor…. until I saw her…
“Morning”—again in my garden, again frightening my birds away…. She swiftly moves, creeping, like a reptor, so as to hide from her victims, and waits patiently amidst the silent butterfly bushes….“Morning”, is how I’ve named my new kitty friend. As I don’t know her real name, or who she belongs to or where she comes from, she is mine... and that’s the name I’ve chosen for her…. She seems to love my garden. I’ve seen her on many occasion basking in the sunshine among the faded roses, laughing at the birds, under the bushes, or like today, suddenly emerging… from nowhere.
Is a made bed a morning must in your house? Or is it about as common as a blue moon? I need to know that it's been made—tightly tucked sheets and perfectly placed pillows.
The Callery Pear is always a bit slow in redressing itself for the changing seasons, it has retain its lovely garments in the colors of golds, and bright oranges, and burnt burgundies, longer than its counterparts, the Flowering Crab Apple, Flowering Plum and tall Birch... their naked branches silently swaying in the air like a skeleton’s boney arms...
The ground has turned clammy, covered in leaves and ready for dormancy. They’re so much to discover here: little secret places, leave-covered fairy holes under the butterfly bush, underbrush awaken by magic in the early morning... the garden has become a poet’s palettes of sensations and emotions.... pretty soon it will be like waking from a dream and stepping out into the world once again.
The birdfeeders had been emptied for a while, but again the birds are finding all sorts of goodies everywhere. They are busy flying around, twittering and fluttering as they find new seeds and a fresh supply of suet to suit their bud taste....
During the shorts cool evenings of autumn, my world turns magical... a weak sun strut by my kitchen window every evening, as he kisses good-night the sleepy garden—swathing it in silence, and a kind of muffled darkness.... when the nights come in, earlier now, I can see the sky layered in the same autumnal colors as the sun goes down, until it becomes blackened with shadows and dark clouds...
