This Moment: October 20 2011- 7:24 A.M.

The dog is on the bed, curled into a pillow. He leaps up suddenly, and stands defensively at the end of the bed, barking at some unseen enemy. Minutes ago it was pure darkness, but now familiar shapes are beginning to reveal themselves in the early light. The dogs are in the kitchen lapping water from their bowl. For a weekday, traffic is slow. Color outside my window is evident. The apple tree is green and heavy with fruit. It will be only a few more days before the pear tree's cache will be ripe for picking. Fall always fills me with a sense of loss, even while surrounded with such abundance. I know the sun light is diminishing, the snow and ice are coming. The old dog is barking a half hearted warning. She is quiet now, her old head resting on crossed paws. She looks to me as if to grant me any wish. The rumble of a truck grows as it nears. Traffic is growing steady. Far away, a train traverses tracks and I can feel it's sideways rocking motion and I imagine running along side it, reaching up and hoisting myself into the car, settling in, eyes closed, my face in the wind.