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We are the Trees.  
  Our dark and leafy glade  
Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries.  
Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run:  
In burning zones, we build against the sun         
  Long centuries of shade. . . 

~ Excerpt from Song of the Trees, Mary Colborne-Veel

Getting up early, I love it. And it has been easy since I’ve been home. The whole day feels fuller. Awake at 5:45, I have time to go for my hour-long run with Charleston; and Suzi joins us for a bit. The September light streams through the trees over the river. I have downloaded on Audible a new book to listen to: The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett, narrated by Shayna Small. Immediately I found it engaging, so well voiced and produced. When I returned home, I had an especially powerful writing coaching session with my client, writing about the George Floyd murder. It was a very moving experience. And, later, I revised poems, tweaking poems that have been workshopped and I even submitted a few to journals, which I haven’t done in a long time. September sun, it’s glorious. Late afternoon, strolling the yard with my son I felt the glow and heat and joy of the passing of this season, summer, into fall. A lovely thing I hear around this house a lot, these past few months: my daughter’s laughter, loud and exuberant. Her laugh, filling the property, drawing us close, into awareness of joy, is like the golden tree in the afternoon. Pregnancy can be like this, yes. But laughter, bringing joy and affection to others, that’s in her nature too, and it has not always been freely expressed as it is now. She packaged up some of her veggie harvest, and we walked them to our neighbors and it was lovely to connect, to take the time to reach out. It is lovely to be home.