Another cloudy day in late October with the front field to cultivate before it starts to rain, as forecast. I’m out beside Mr. Massey Too, checking his fluid levels before connecting the cultivator, when I get that feeling, you know, like somebody’s looking at me. So, I look up right where that feeling is coming from, just above the Treetops of some tall spruce, and there it is, the sun – a faint light in the clouds, so faint that I can look right at it, face to face, as it were.

I get the sense the son wants to tell me something; so, I say, “What? What’s up? What’s on your mind?”

There is no reply, of course. It’s just me playing games with my imagination. Why would the sun want to say anything to me, out of all the many millions, billions he might choose, most of whom are far more worthy of being the recipient of a message from . . . I notice a literal “typo” there in the previous, brief paragraph where I typed in “son” instead of “sun.” A mistake any old man like me might easily make. But, you know what, I think I’ll leave it uncorrected. It is what it is. Anything is possible.

I get a notion the sun is saying good-bye. Each day it draws closer to the southern horizon, darkness comes a little bit earlier in the evening, and longer in the pre-dawn morning. I’ve seen the sun in just this position near the treetops in mid-May when it’s heading back north and there’s hope in the air, the return of a new growing season.

“Look,” I say to the sun, “I know it’s going to be another long, hard winter – I can feel it in my bones, and yes, in my heart of hearts. Yes, age has finally caught up to me. Yes, I nap a couple of times a day, yet have trouble getting a good night’s sleep. I have to push myself to get started sometimes. I can read the signs. Yes, I know every moment of this life is a gift, a sacred gift, and I must keep reminding myself to give thanks more often – indeed, all the time – for that, and do everything I can in my way to keep the spirit of light and life shining through the clouds. I’m not going anywhere just yet, except to the morning, to rise again.

A moment later the sun is gone again behind the clouds, but its presence is everywhere, of course, lighting the day, and the night.