Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;
Shimmering of seeded grass;
Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind,
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall. . .

Excerpt from Late September by Amy Lowell

Awake early, I finished preparing my prompt for the Farm Pond Writers this morning, and then we went out into the mist. Soon enough, we walked under a cloudless sky, with plenty of time to enjoy being in the woods and admiring the massive mushroom like a fountain, or a chalice, on the side of the trail by the wetlands. Big enough to be a bird bath in my garden! An extravagantly large, wonderful mushroom. I am thinking about my retreat: what I will pack to wear and read and write from; all my notes for poems and notes of feedback on poems. And, I must think about what to leave behind. Pack lightly. Pack only what I will need and appreciate and use. I will pack my hat, for one thing, as it’s actually a Stetson named “Santa Fe.” This morning, I arrive early, as usual, I arrive first, and mount the stairs in the quiet to the writing studio. It’s warm and bright. The windows are closed, the lights are off. I set up the room as if setting the stage. The walls are gold in the autumn light; the leaves outside the window also shine in gold. I’m excited about the prompt I have prepared: an exploration of hats. (Dear reader, would you like me to send you this prompt to write from? E-mail me at Kellydumar@gmail.com and I’ll send it tomorrow.) One by one the writers mount the stairs, carrying the hats I’ve invited them to bring, carrying muffins and donuts and treats. There is so much warmth and friendship between these golden walls. After the writing, there is sharing. Some of the writers have written dramatic monologues about hats and we laugh a lot today. The writing is wonderful. The hats are fabulous. And, just as I did last week, I take a swim after all the writers depart. It feels strange, without the dogs, as I descend the stone steps in the coolish air. I don’t stop, I just go, I dive in, swim swiftly around the island, and return, refreshed, delighted, filled up by the writing, the sharing, the listening and my heart beating strong and fast from my swim.