. . . A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs. . .

~ Excerpt from “Ars Poetica,” by Archibald MacLeash

I wondered, is it too windy to walk in the woods? And decided it was not. It was early, and cool and damp from yesterday’s rain, and sloppy and broken and ruined by wind. Still, I went for a happy long walk and passed a lovely tree trunk. There is always bark to deeply admire, especially after rain. The wind picked up after I went indoors and by noon trees downtown had knocked the power out in town. The house so eerily quiet four hours, disturbing the dogs who know something’s off in the vibrations of our universe, even Suzi, who is quite deaf, but feels the absence of noise quite deeply. We all try to work a bit with whatever device we can use; finally, give up. I manage to get a poem from the letters written for workshop tonight, and the power comes on just in time for––POETRY! Yay, I get to be with my poetry friends, and it’s a fine night of poems and sharing, and wonderful discussion about why we value workshopping our poems with each other. After, I walk by the window a few times and the moon, the moon, it thrums with electricity.