The leaves fall, fall as from far, Like distant gardens withered in the heavens; They fall with slow and lingering descent...

Excerpt from “Autumn,” Rainer Maria Rilke translated by Jessie Lamont.

The sky was not entirely gray when I reached the river this morning. I saw, behind a cloud, one patch of blue. But, from the trestle bridge, all was silvery. The black branches rippled, finger-like, in reflection. I walked a long time with the dogs, slowly. Early on, I turned back, went for a coat. Layers and layers are called for every day now. Before walking I read an e-mail from my friend Maureen who sent me her description for the workshop she’ll teach at our IWWG Boston Conference in 2020. Now, I have everyone’s in and must come up with my own. What do I want to teach? This is what is on my mind. Putting together the day; what will work best with Susan’s and Vanessa’s and Maureen’s workshops in memoir and narrative and poetry. My mind feels jumbled and confused. I decide not to think about it. But I can’t let go. I keep coming up with ideas and crossing them out in my head. But, the longer I walk, through the woods, past the brooks, into the meadow, over the footbridge, over the brown leaves, past the puffing pussy willows. I begin to feel the shape of my workshop. It will be a drama writing workshop. And then, I see the shape of the entire day; the times, the order of workshops, the open mic. This walk has been organically productive. I have two pictures. The frozen leaf in the brook is my favorite. So pale and ghostly as it goes. Such a gorgeous Rilke line: the leaves falling, as if from distant gardens withered in the heavens. At the Brookline Poetry Series this afternoon I was saturated by poetry, the features, and all the readers in the open mic. And I read a new poem too. Gratitude. It’s a silvery word. Silvery like the river. Silvery like the leaves in the brook. Silvery like the sky. Gratitude. Let this be my mantra this slivery week of November. Because, I will forget, and I will be human forget again. When I see the silver of sky or brook or ice or river, I will be gratitude, even for a moment.