A messy morning outdoors. The perfection of first snow has passed. There’s slush and soak. The spillage of soggy leaves, the wreck of broken branches. And the loveliness of the muted colors of tree trunks and their maroon and gold reflections on the river. I am pleased, during my walk, about having woken up and written and sent my Aim for Astonishing weekly prompt inspired by a poem by Alert Rios, House Called Tomorrow, relating it to the upcoming election and all the unknowns of the moment. Later, two treats today, two visits. In the afternoon, I ask Frank to build a fire in the fire pit in the yard, and he does. My dear friend comes with her mask and we stand socially distanced and catch up. Frank’s fire isn’t taking well; the wood was wet from the snow. But I’m grateful to be outdoors connecting. Then, later, my sister and her husband, whom I haven’t seen since February, arrive, and by this time the outdoor fire is blazing and flaming and it’s plenty warm. We sit apart from each other in the cold air, so happy to be visiting after all these months. And then it starts to rain. But we don’t depart. Frank has umbrellas handy: we hold the black umbrellas over our heads and the fire blazes on, as does our conversation about our children and their children, and we are getting and giving so much good news. We don’t mind the rain or the cold. I have made paper cups of hot tea. Now, I am in bed, listening to the downpour, it continues, melting all the Halloween snow. I hope all the animals are warm and dry in their dens tonight.