You and I have spent so many hours working.
 We have paid dearly for the life we have.
 It's all right if we do nothing tonight.
 We've heard the fiddlers tuning their old fiddles,
 And the singer urging the low notes to come.
 We've heard her trying to keep the dawn from breaking.
 There's some slowness in life that is right for us,
 But we love to remember the way the soul leaps
 Over and over into the lonely heavens. 

~ Robert Bly

My friend and I will walk in the early afternoon, so Charlie and Suzi are confused to find me lingering at my computer in my pajamas, not my walking clothes. But I am writing and sending my weekly Aim for Astonishing Writing Prompt for Thanksgiving. I swim early before going to a meeting with colleagues from the Transformative Language Arts Network. I delicious swim, plenty of energy, the cold symptoms gradually alleviating and the sun is shining on a new day. Except, sadly, Robert Bly died yesterday; I only got the news today: Robert Bly, dead at 94. Dementia. I have a busy morning and try to work on the new poem, but I see it will need much more than I can give it today to get it in for tomorrow’s workshop. My friend arrives for our brisk walk in the woods over the trails we’ve walked so many times. And then tea. And the time has gone so fast since she’s been gone––it doesn’t feel as if she’s gone, here we are in the woods walking. There is time in the evening to tweak a revision of poem I’ve already workshopped quite a bit; I send it off. Generate a draft of the blurb I am writing for my friend’s wonderful memoir. Will sleep on it, more soundly because I have outlined my thoughts and put them on paper. I did have a wonderful sleep last night. I am giving blessings and thanks for the life Bly gave to poetry.