Last night I settled on my new house, and when I woke this morning, I knew I’d made the right choice.
My new abode gazes down upon Mitoya from halfway up a small mountain. It is open on every side so that all my guests can come and go as they please. My guests often play inside my house: the breeze with his autumnal toys, the leaves; dragonflies; butterflies; bumblebees; sunbeams, who hover just on the perimeter because they are so shy; crickets, who with their music, bring me sweet dreams as I sway in my rafter-hung hammock. The more permanent residents here have spun me fine nets of silver that shimmer in the morning sun and keep out most of the unwanted guests, mosquitoes, which are so few now because they don’t appreciate the invigorating chill of autumn. Around my house grows green of every hue, interrupted now and then by minute petals of violet and white, globules and clusters of red, puffer fish of brown, and leaflets of rusty orange that display the first vestiges of change.
I am quite content as I sit on the veranda with the sunbeams, who are not at all bashful when I come out to play.