An Exercise To Release Writer's Block

Suddenly September reveals itself steel grey clouds and dreary rain; it’s twelve o'clock, but the sun is hidden. I lean against the damp deck railing a Brown truck’s backup horn pierces the distant din of traffic, but at least it isn’t one of those damned drones. Too wet for the Hibachi but the propane grill will work. Chicken roasted on the rotisserie, beans, late summer corn and apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. I can taste it now. A feast for the return of a non-prodigal son, briefly back from the Arctic before he’s off again this time to Berkley, leaving us alone again but at least there won't be leftovers. .