Another Autumn, and a Poem

I’m keeping it short this week, (finally) telling how this summer’s infection turned out, and sharing a poem my father wrote.

• A New Normal and a North Window
• “Autumn Yard Work” and Rejoicing

Don’t worry, by the way. The poem is short: only 14 words, including the title.

A New Normal and a North Window

Normally — or, rather, what used to be normally — I’d be spending most of the day at my desk, looking stuff up, reading, writing, or thinking about what I’d been reading, writing, or looking up.

Then, in April, a sore on my shin wouldn’t heal.

As a result, I got to know the folks who come to town each week for a Wound Care Clinic, and spent most of the summer’s days keeping my feet as high as practical.

The good news, some of it, was that the household already had an easy chair by the north window.

The open sore wasn’t open any more by the time summer ended. But now I’ve got a new “normal”: spending a fair fraction of each day in the easy chair by the north window. Often with a cup of coffee, always with something to read.

The new routine keeps my feet up more than before, which is supposed to help with blood circulation: and did strongly correlate with getting that sore healed.

It’s a nice view out the north window: basically the same as my webcam’s, but from a different angle.

• Webcam: Sauk Centre MN
  “…my corner of small town America, deep in the heart of darkest Minnesota….”

Lately, I’ve been enjoying watching the leaves turn to their autumn colors. And that reminded me of something my father did.

“Autumn Yard Work” and Rejoicing

My father didn’t write much, but he did have a way with words. That’s something I inherited from him, along with a habit of thinking about life, the universe, and all that.

Autumn Yard Work (II)
Life passing
Leaves falling
Birds flying
Clouds floating
I’m watching
Rejoicing
(Bernard I. Gill)

I can’t, offhand, point to any one example, but I very strongly suspect I learned my habit of paying attention to the wonders and beauties surrounding us from my father.

Or maybe it’s something hardwired: an inherited predisposition to notice where I am, and think about what’s there. If so, that’s a pleasant counterpoint to other very-likely-inherited glitches.

In any case, I think rejoicing is a good idea. Even when — particularly when — everything isn’t copacetic, the snail’s eyebrows, and the bee’s knees: and I don’t have ‘beautiful feelings’.

“…Oh, what a beautiful Mornin’
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I’ve got a beautiful feelin’
Everything’s goin’ my way….”
(“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” , from “Oklahoma!” (1943) via allmusicals.com)

Bottom line, rejoicing is a good idea, no matter how I’m feeling. It’s also possible at any time, although sometimes it’s more of an intellectual exercise than a rush of emotion.

This might be a good time to stop writing.

Besides, I’ve talked about life, perceptions, and making sense before, more or less:

• “Storms, Health, a Biopsy, and Unsettling News” (July 12, 2025)
  • Biopsy and Good News
• “Holy Thursday, Dealing With an Infection” (April 17, 2025)
  • Helping my Body Heal
• “I am Not Samuel: But I’m Someone” (January 17, 2021)
  • Paying Attention
• “Still Rejoicing” (July 2, 2017)
  • Joy, Zest, and Mud
  • Emotions Happen
  • Swooning Saints and Ham Sandwiches
• “The Virtue Trap” (October 23, 2016)
  • Truth Matters
  • Uriah Heep and The Screwtape Letters