Days go by.  There is a Laurie Anderson song about “days go by.”  And something about “white lilies.” 

As I watch afternoon light turn golden and leaves--ever so gently—dropping, I feel summer slipping away quietly, backing into the shadows of shorter days and out of the bright lights of football season. 

There is still work to do here with my family.  It could be that my life the past two years has been so erratic, but now I feel I am in limbo, working all the while, but in one place, isolated from the world I know.  As these days go by, life goes on—outside of this house and in my old places—without me.  I need to mention Michael Burgess, beloved Cannon Beach author, observer and hugger who passed away this week.  Soft-spoken, charming and clever with a bad ticker.  The consolation is that he and best buddy Billy Hults are now sitting in comfy arm chairs, smoking and planning a celestial version of Upper Left Edge.

Back here, everything must be taken day by day, no past, no future, as I try to unobtrusively navigate my parents through their autumn.