Another lovely fall day. The horizon was clear and uncomplicated. Acorns fell in the woods. There is noise in the quiet if you listen. A cry in the distance. Difficult to ascertain if it emanates from the human or animal kingdom. Could it be the sound of a bird? It is a bit ethereal. The Woods is watching. Leaves fall regularly now. Cold weather is coming this week.

Days of expectation. Days of hope. Waiting for the call. Waiting for the great commission. Waiting for orders from headquarters. No rest for the weary, Neva J often said. Panoramic Theatre surrounds us. Dolby sound. What we experience is like being there…we are there…we wait for new technology. Our limbs are tired but our trunk is strong. The trees of the forest have a lesson to teach. They are committed to their assignment. They stretch toward Heaven. They grow their roots deep in the Earth. Life is focus. The Turtledove is heard in our land.

We fit the spiritual into pots of clay. The fit is not good…the spirits keep leaking out. We forget our essence at our peril. We look at our reflection in the mirror and soon forget what manner of man or woman we are. What was a mission becomes an obsession. Power is good if used sparingly. The corruption of power is swift. A heady drug of believing your own stories.

The prince grew up in the castle. He was cared for day and night. Fed with a golden spoon…read to by his nannies…washed by his nursemaid. The little prince was carried on a silk pillow. Neither the wind or rain or sun hurt his tender head. He laughed when the court jesters danced before him. The little prince was told morning noon and evening that he was a good boy…wonderful…special…none like him. The Little Prince believed what he was told. He grew and became a leader of the people. The crowds loved him and worshipped him. They called out that he was sent by God for their benefit…chosen. No one told the Little Price no. No one disagreed. No one had a better idea. Finally the Little Prince became the Old King.

Old King was often in a foul mood. The servants did not work quickly enough…they did not bow low enough…he could not hear them when they spoke…he thought them a bit stupid. Old King felt bad all the time. He was heavy on his tired feet…he winded easily…eating was one of his only pleasures. Advisors treated him like a baby…it reminded him of when he was the Little Prince. They asked him questions in bite size amounts. If he gave the answer they sought they asked no further…they reported that this is what the Old King wants. Old King loved aesthetics. He remembered the palace…the silk pillows…someone to dress him and tell him what a good boy he was.

The autumn sun cast long shadows. Appropriate for fall is the shadows we cast. A friend of similar age commented on his daily thoughts of mortality. He noted that another ten or eleven years could mean a change in health whereby he could not go where he wanted. I thought from your mouth to God’s ear. I have seen many having failing health in their 50s and 60s. I mentioned that a friend asked me if I ever thought about mortality…I replied that I did not…until his question…now I think about it daily. He agreed. So fall is well underway and either halfway done or soon to reach that mark. It has been quicker than ever due to the extreme heat for much of it. It has seemed like one long summer and a little fall tacked on.

The Old Man saw it again. There it was in the wrong place for the Sun’s influence. A long shadow of a man wearing a big hat. It appeared at strange times. When life was a bit of a slog the Old Man would see the mysterious shadow. The Shadow walked out of the shadows…a mind of his own. Shadow exuded calm. Old Man called the Shadow…Shadow Man. Shadow Man was in the corner of the hospital room when the Old Man almost died as a child. Shadow Man rode with the Old Man and his mom in the ambulance when the driver commented, ‘This kid is not going to make it.’

‘I enjoy our walks…our talks…in the autumn woods,’ Shadow Man said. ‘I realize you think that life has happened much too quickly…this is not all there is…it is just the beginning,’ Shadow Man said. ‘When you were a child you learned to write cursive…you went to the library to use the card catalogue to find the book you needed…going to the Moon was a dream until it became reality,’ Shadow Man mused. ‘Now you carry a Library in your pocket…computers talk to you and you talk back…you wonder if AI will be the extinction of the human race or the rocket propulsion of it,’ Shadow Man laughed. ‘So it goes with this life…when you look back on it you will think what good training for what is coming,’ Shadow Man said .

‘I enjoy are conversations as well,’ Old Man said. ‘Often I think of what is next,’ Old Man grinned. ‘The Day Of Life ends quickly,’ Old Man attested. ‘It is dawn with dew on the grass…all is new and shines with promise,’ Old Man observed. ‘The safety and security of Morning is a wonderful thing…then comes mid-day,’ Old Man laughed. ‘Time to not let grass grow under your feet…make hay while the sun shines…climb the ladder without fear,’ Old Man recalled. ‘Soon it is night…rest and reflection…a sense of place…see what you have not seen and do what you have not done,’ Old Man danced on one foot and then the other. ‘Then the Secret,’ Old Man whispered.

MJ painted a Trivet yesterday in a painting class held at church and I am thoroughly impressed. It’s evident that she is a budding artist. A crisp Sunday full of the abundance of fall. There is a full Show Bill ahead for the rest of the year and the beginning of the next. Life is best when embraced with open arms. Thanksgiving is upon us. Many are grateful for the ease in some persistent fears. Christmas is just beyond the day of Thanks. A time of year that is a part of my character. From the days of Laughing Santa in Chicago where I knew I was a member of a mysterious magical world until now is part of the Great Story

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The memorable trip to Chicago when I was but a wee Christmas Lad comes back to me a this time of year. We saw Lady and the Tramp in the Theatre. People were scurrying about on the sidewalks in front of the Theatre. Holiday music was everywhere. It was cold. Ivy and Steve and my older girlfriend, Susie, was there and she was holding my hand. Susie hugged me every time she saw me and often gave me a little kiss. I enjoyed seeing Lady and the Tramp with her. The humongous silver screen and darkened theatre enabled me to travel to the Story before me. There I was with Rusty and Jock and Tramp in the wonderful land. I had a bit of a crush on Lady. She was so lovely. Her home with Jim Dear and Darling which were the names Lady perceives her human parents have as this is what they call each other…was seemingly perfect accept for the Siamese Cats. Ivy and Neva J were best friends and our neighbor. The heady spirit of Christmas…Lady and the Tramp…being with my friends and a part of the hustle and bustle of the Christmas Season in Chicago was intoxicating.

Laughing Santa was my buddy. A little stuffed Santa with a plastic gregarious grin and a handy crank protruding from his back. His laugh when begun is full of Christmas cheer but soon sounds like a car engine being started on a winter’s morning. I knew no one who had a real life Laughing Santa. LS was a very perceptive fellow. He laughed often. LS laughed loudest when he saw the magnificent Christmas gifts under then giant Christmas tree. In the Snow Globe of Christmas in Chicago time had no end. It never ended for me.

Christmas Dinner at Grandma A’s was a unique experience. Her grand front porch seemed oversized. Sitting on it you could see the Star-Lite Drive-Inn. Neva J had sisters…Wanda…Vema…Guelda…along with Wandas kids Brenda and Billy and Vema’s husband Ed. Guelda was a widow and had recently moved from St. Louis. Guelda was much older than Neva J and Neva J had thought her rich when she and her first husband Lou visited from St. Louis. Guelda had fur coats and fine clothes and Lou was a successful Jewish businessman. Lou introduced Guelda to many Hollywood celebrities such as Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. Guelda’s sister and Neva J’s half sister Beulah would join the Christmas Feast at Grandma A’s. Beulah had grown children, DC…Allie and Bub and David Ray who came along with their kids. It was a full house. The St. Louis and Marissa folks I did not know very well due to not seeing them often. I did get acquainted with David Ray and Pat’s son Craig and Allie and Sonnies son Terry. I remember David Ray and Pat’s daughter Cyndy when she was little more than new born. Grandma A was the Star of Christmas. She enjoyed having her large family in her home during the holidays. Grandma A had ten children.

A week is gone. The best things go quickly. The Old Man reaches with both hands to hold Magic Autumn. Many leaves are on the ground. Frost has visited the tender plants. The days of hibernation are coming. Days of deep thoughts by Jack Handy. ‘How did fall look to me when I was thirty…forty…fifty…sixty,’ the Old Man asked? ‘Did I see the beauty or was it on the checklist of things to do for fun,’ the Old Man asked. ‘The time of ghost stories…there are things half seen in the shadows,’ the Old Man mused. ‘Eyes looking out of the campfire smoke…leaves rustling…children’s laughter…but where are the kids,’ the Old Man asked?

‘Tell us the story of the Old Man of the Woods,’ the Kids asked among their giggles. ‘Did people really go to live with him in the fall and not return,’ the Kids said. ‘We heard his stories were compelling and soon those listening forgot who they were,’ Kids noted. ‘It is said that they live in the woods with him and if you listen closely you can hear their laughter,’ Kids said with glee. ‘It is told that the Old Man of the Woods is kind and protects children from danger,’ Kids stated.

‘Did I hear my name mentioned,’ Old Man of the Woods asked? ‘My wife and I have welcomed the poor forgotten homeless children for many years to our Woods Home,’ OM of the Woods said. ‘No one cared so we opened our doors to the needy kids,’ OM continued. ‘We find them homes in the community…but many choose to live with us in the Magic Woods,’ OM explained. ‘You will hear them giggle as they play in our Magic World of no fear,’ OM smiled. ‘There is a door between your world and ours…when we see a little one who is lost we rescue them,’ the Old Man of the Woods said quietly. ‘Our worlds coexist side by side…yet they are very different,’ OM noted with a laugh. ‘We wait for Father Christmas while you wait for Santa Claus…We enjoy vegetable lasagna with Thanksgiving Dinner while you eat turkey…our neighbors the Turkeys have a bone to pick with you,’ OM chortled.

‘There is much to be said for not being afraid,’ Mr. Mole observed as he cleaned his spectacles. ‘So many of my human friends are scared and worried most of the time,’ Mr. Mole continued. ‘Badger and I want to the kids on a proper boat ride through the rushing creek in the Woods,’ Mr. Mole said with aplomb. ‘They must be exposed to the beauty of nature to understand the difference in media and horror created to divide us,’ Mr. Mole smiled. ‘Life is much simpler than the supposed experts tell us…for reasons know only to them they kindle the fire of fear,’ Mr. Mole continued. ‘The gentle rhythms of the Woods and the excitement of the rushing creek will be a Magic Autumn thrill that will stay with our young friends,’ Moley said as he danced about.

Here we are again. Friday is here, and Christmas is coming. Our glass is half full and filling. It has been a good news week. The Quiet People spoke. FDR told us that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself…but not this week. There is a reason to get up in the morning. The challenge of the day is not too much for us. We are in the big show…the performance is ongoing…the audience is laughing at the comedy and crying at the tragedy. What a strange tale we tell. Born naked and crying, and leaving our journey taking nothing with us. While we are here, we join hands in the Fun House, trying to find the path to the exit. We, Quiet People, watch the show. Who needs our help…who needs us to obtain their goals…who sees us as those salt of the earth folks who need to be led.

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The Old Lion rises from his slumber. What has been happening he asks. ‘I am having difficulty discerning if my dreams are reality or reality is my dreams,’ Old Lion said. ‘I have strode upon the continents and over the oceans…my reach is beyond my grasp…my finale must be film-worthy,’ Old Lion noted with a wry grin. ‘My name engenders fear in my friends and dread for my enemies,’ Old Lion continued. ‘I still have tricks up my sleeve,’ Old Lion winked. ‘I must have an implementor…a young one who can take the long days and short nights…someone who is meaner than a junkyard dog,’ Old Lion laughed. ‘I will be remembered for my brilliance…I saw myself in the mirror just now…what an inspiration I am,’ Old Lion smiled broadly.

‘I think I can…I think I can…I think I can…we are many…we are one…we want peace not fear…hope not hurt…joy not sorrow,’ Quiet People said with a lovely voice. ‘Our voices sound like doves flying in the mountains…like a roaring stream in the woods…like the sound of joy in the face of fear,’ Quiet People said. ‘Tears of joy have replaced tears of sorrow…we will meet the day with confidence…we will speak from our seclusion…,’ Quiet People said with a dance of redemption.

‘Could it be a terrible and frightening game?’ Chet asked? ‘I watched a TV show about the Mob and marveled as one mobster told his enemy that he had to kill his son because it was part of the game,’ Chet noted. ‘The mobster who had lost his son said he knew the fellow who had killed his son had a daughter,’ Chet noted. ‘Have we Quiet People been living a Show called Blood Sport,’ Chet asked. ‘Is the hate…hurt…fear…part of an evil game…have we been the pawns?’ Chet asked.