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    Thoughts From A Journal Of My Seventieth Year By Dave Donelson: In The Autumn & Winter Whispered Into Town

    Writer Dave Donelson left his successful business career in 1999 to become a full-time freelance writer. In 2020 he both completed a memoir of his life growing up (entitled Fathers: A Memoir) and began a daily journal where he posts his thoughts, observations, and insights each day. Titled “The Journal of My Seventieth Year: A Memoir In Real Time,” all four volumes of this daily diary are available in eBook, paperback, and hardcover editions for purchase on Amazon. We are pleased to share with agebuzz readers select individual posts from Dave’s journal, as well as his photography that accompanies the journal entries. Below are his latest selections for us.




    In The Autumn


    In the autumn of these red leaves

    I look back at my life long lived.

    Was it good?



    Did I make a difference?

    Or show indifference?

    I cannot judge, having lived it.

    Is there more?

    I cannot know.

    I wait to see these red leaves falling.







    Winter Whispered Into Town





    Winter whispered into town this morning, but our intrepid house warned us of the dangers outside.

    The boiler rumbled a call to arms in the basement and sent its steam-clad legions pouring through the pipes under our wooden floors.

    The boards beneath our feet grew warm as they ticked and creaked with the pleasures of stretching after their long summer’s rest.

    Winter heard them and delayed its nefarious attack to a time when the house might let down its guard.

    While I made my coffee, the windows rattled tiny warning that winter had sent its wind to scout our defenses on another front.

    But the windows are tight and secure and rebuff the probing gusts.

    Next, winter tries a frontal assault on the doors, but they, too, are strong and not to be breached by cold breezes no matter how persistently they blow.

    I know they will resist to the end since I built them strong to last for years and years.

    Winter tries one last sneak attack, sending a suicide squad of cold air down the chimney, but our wood stove sends a brave squadron of smokey heat to push the attackers back up the flue and into oblivion.

    Its early assaults defeated, winter retreats. I know it will return with a bigger, meaner army in due time, but we have no fear. Our house is strong.