Fall

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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