#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . Yellow fall roars
Over the ground.
Loud, in the leafy sun that pours
Liquid through doors,
Yellow, the leaves twist down. . .

~ Excerpt from “Mabon,” by Annie Finch

Another chilly start. The brook is black soil dry, so I walked onto it and found, on this first day of autumn this reminder of bright blue forget-me-nots. I walked with both dogs for a long time, up the hills, down the hills, in the quite woods, the early woods, the chilled woods where it was mostly me that wanted to be out so early. I came home to a busy, satisfying day of preparation for my afternoon free-write workshop and also for my Farm Pond Writers workshop tomorrow. There’s an exciting charge in the air and activity of the house: preparation and waiting. Rooms being organized. Packages in the mail. I make dinner, spinach quesadillas and fresh guacamole. There is a question that hangs in the air, cheering us. A mystery unfolding. When?