Some Thoughts in Passing

It is setting in motion the first spell of winter. and I am in the eastern coasts. Late in the night and early in the morning when the sun starts telling you that soon it is going to be another day and then slowly but surely there is that eternally pure and faint gleaming sign of a crimson horizon. By then people are there on the streets, in the parks and on the rooftops with swinging arms and jaunty steps. The only difference is that there is that balaclava on the old sixtyish gentleman to ward off the streaming cold chill of first winter, or the soft woolly stowl or jacket on the old or not so old women while they are on their stroll or jog to the next stop.

It's November and the winter birds are flying in from lands distant to fill and seed the lakes and ponds of yore. And at sundown it's time to relish your peg of Old Cask. Life can be good at times.