. . . Two rust eyes blink

from the bottom. I bend my neck

for Mother’s blessing. I might be clay.

I might be dough. Her pulsing

soap-slicked fingers sink and knead.

~ Excerpt from “Ritual,” by Mary Beth Hines

I love to watch the color leave the leaves. Found this beauty as soon as I went out this morning––a long ramble. Over the trestle bridge, through the meadow of December. My energy returned after a good night’s sleep. Woke to such a kitchen mess; none of us had the energy for a clean up last night, and I didn’t mind. So, first thing, a clean up. A busy and very satisfying day. Walk, swim, and prep for the book launch I was hosting for Mary Beth Hines. What a joy this event was. So many attended, her family and friends. Just wow. She asked some of us to choose a poem we wanted to read, and the whole thing was well orchestrated and intimate and fresh and satisfying. I start to think about packing, what I need to bring on my trip to San Francisco. Make delicious homemade pizzas for a casual dinner.