“Sometimes I imagine life itself as merely a long preparation and waiting, a long darkness of growth toward these adventures of the spirit, a picaresque novel, so to speak, in which the episodes are all inward.” ~ May Sarton

Despite this head cold I have now we walk for a long ramble through woods and along the river to Medfield State in sunshine, across a brilliant fall meadow, our Sunday Sanctuary. At the top of a mild, rocky hill, I overlook the Charles and the bare trees rippling in reflection and snap a photo that resembles a watercolor painting. Charlie has his ear medicine - and, now, so do I.

At home, it’s a writing day with sneezing, too, lots of both. I compose a first draft of a new prose/poetry piece, inspired by yesterday’s #NewThisDay blog and slideshow and by bedtime feel it’s good enough for me to sleep on it and hope that I will be well enough to attend my writing group tomorrow night and learn from reading it aloud to excellent, generous, probing listeners and commenters who will help me solve it.