It hit home when I was picking pears yesterday morning. The light is different. The sky has a certain slate cast to it. The vine maples are turning crimson and bronze. Dean's purple asters are in full glorious bloom. The chrysanthemums are just beginning to bud. The squirrels are digging little holes in the garden for their cache of sunflower seeds. I used to hate the fall. But I've grown to love it. It feels right.
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Worked on the new short story and several poem revisions yesterday.
Thn met with MJK at the Frye. I am being commissioned to write some poems in response to some art there. We'll see how it goes. I think it's gona be a lot of fun. More on that later.
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Off for a long weekend with friends at Point No Point on Vancouver Island. It's cabin weather. Time for log fires and hot tubs and red wine and reading by the water.
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5 comments:
Surprise
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Just last night
leaves changed in the dark
with no warning. I woke
to find the small maple sapling
in my back yard half yellow,
October’s red brush stroking
the tips, ready to set fire
to the entire world.
Justin: very nice!
Enjoy the weekend, Peter!
mmm, I built my first fire of the season Wednesday night.
Peter:
Thanks for saying so. The same thing happened to us two nights ago, and your picture got me thinking. I wish it would happen more often.
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