Sixteen, twenty-four—oh that’s easy—music time.
But how would I ever remember a number like 56. How does that fit into anything. Now 72 was a strange number at first but I liked that it was 27 backwards—my birthday date. Once I got used to it, 72 made a great I landing pad. 72—my friend—we’re almost done with 8s. Nine’s are so much easier.

Adults have different problems with multiplication.
Take, Divorce
Times backstabbing
Times sick child,
Times crazy boss
Times a stopped up toilet
Equals chest-pounding tremors.

Nobody prepares you for this kind of multiplication. When you lose the numbers you lose all kinds of certainty. For one thing, there’s no way to check your work. And no one wants to see your miserable little on-the-fly-process, except the doubt-mongers and second guessers. You’ll be reassembling incomplete records forever if you start listening to them.

Days shorten and my blood cools down enough to stick to business. Morning clouds fix me to my chair and reward my hard work with afternoon sunshine. Evenings come earlier, the crickets are frantic and the air is stirred a bit serious. Summer still sparkles the corners of my mind. I can almost touch the fun, the folks, the picnics, the fresh fruits, veggies and the salty smells. But that serious wants more of me and I give in, almost relieved by the rhythm it suggests. Yes, I feel good doing my work and looking outside for a dog-day reward. If only the summer evenings would linger. What a pay-off—long slow light and frog songs on my deck. But the light has been narrowing since June now. I’m too late again. Next year I’ll pitch my offer in May—no, next year I won’t forget.

This new fall energy refreshes from the hot summer lazy’s. Too soon it will sag under the wet and gray-again days, then holiday-indulgence daze. But now it’s dry and green, mums-in-the-stores with notebook castanets snapping. It’s fall.

I’ll celebrate a new year of apple-sweetness and pumpkin festivals. Little wisps of summer will sneak through in golden light and red-hot grills. I’ll grab the warm teasing afternoon, knowing it might be the last. Days will speed their spin as the last drops of the year are sucked down the hole, fall and all.