This morning, I walked with my friend at Medfield State. Oh, November. It wasn’t just that we were talking so enthusiastically, focused on conversation. It was the landscape, too. This beautiful walk along the river and through the meadows under the gray sky didn’t send any sparks of delight. I didn’t want to head home, as we reached our cars, without at least one photo to take home with me. Something natural, filled with wonder and mystery, some moment of aesthetic delight captured. So, I kept walking with Suzi and Charlie, we crossed the street into the meadow and walked and walked, another couple of miles. And I took many blah photos. Until I found the milkweed fluff beneath the stalk, the white hairs dotted with drops of moisture on top of the straw. Then, I had my take-home. This fallen to floor bubbled world of the seedy pollinator. In the house it was quiet, deliciously quiet all day and I worked and I was glad for all that I accomplished, including a quick revision-swipe of my poem from Friday’s workshop to take to Monday night. Small changes after all. It cleaned up well, the bits of confusion. I drove, after dinner, at dark into the city and Charlie and Suzi were sad to be left behind, with only one walk for their day. I was pleased at the suggestions for my poem. I am closer to being satisfied with “Marriage in October Barn.” Not there, but close. Today, the milkweed and the silvery sky of gratitude softened my heart about the tiny moodbumps that strike me. A night of unsleep; the spell of sleep broken by unnecessary rumbling of concerns. I felt splurges of cheerfulness in my milkweed Monday.