. . . and there’s

a tree, long-fallen; once

the bees flew to it, like a procession

of messengers, and filled it

with honey. . .

Excerpt from “October,” by Mary Oliver

Such a pounding dripping slamming rain tonight outside the window in the dark while I was a poetry workshop. Grateful to have been back for my morning walk, as this kind of downpour will surely strip much of the wonderful foliage from the branches. It was a fabulous walk. Ran part of it, felt terrific, despite limited sleep. Asleep around 2:00 a.m. after returning home; awake by 6:00 to find my way down the hall to see a special one, who was awake Happiness And the kitchen was left clean for our return! I walked, trying to think if I was going to get a poem for tonight’s workshop. Nothing came into my head. Because to write you have to sit down and write. Which I did once I showered, outdoors still in the atmosphere of colorful. I surprised myself. A few notes, taken on the plane toward a poem that didn’t seem to be working. Then, finding my way in, this morning. And workshop feedback was very positive. The house is in the midst of much disruption from painting all of the upstairs except our room, which is done. A house full of workers by 7:00. Progress is being made. Mist rolled up the yard at dusk. The brook is full. And filling fast. And home.