Sunday in October

A quiet cool morning sitting askew in a deep cushioned chair with my leg over the side sipping steaming coffee and reading Capote's The Grass Harp. The print is too tiny so I look away alot out the window where chickadees sing 'look-at-me!'and swiftly take one sunflower seed from the feeder, bob up into the tree and peck away at the shell. The sparrows are silent, appearing like they're dead and stuffed on a perch and feasting away oblivious to my moving in for a closer look. I prefer the song of the chickadees: it slows my heartbeat.

After a stroll in the warming sun and snapping a photo of a tree changed into burnt orange, I'm back into my chair in time for football where big men give blood.