Autumn Rain
It seemed that the dry, desiccation of San Francisco followed me home. I flew through September on caked clay wings, ran on baked mud feet, with cool dew nights and pleasant, yellow days to soothe me, even as I worried about my thirsty gardens. I hunted paw paws on my birthday - a tradition and a gift to myself - where I saw a little school of fish circling round a shrinking pool of water, that hot, dry air threatening them with death. I planted a couple trees in the yard, a brown beauty magnolia and a rising sun red bud, struggling through the cemented clay and fill dirt, which were beset with river gravel and stone. At other times, Susan and I spun up tunes on our old piano, which we purchased from a thrift store as a joint birthday present. Finally, as September waned and Autumn's first moon waxed, my father came to visit ahead of a mass of hot, humid air. Both came from the south. The tropical storm (Nate) tracked up through the Gulf and Louisiana. My father, Jim, came from Am