Good morning, autumn. I wake early in a quiet house. I think about the poem I haven’t written, the poem I am thinking about writing, the poem I have taken notes for and have pictures for and have put in a file on my desktop. I have no idea how to write this poem and I want to put it away. But that would involve taking the folder off my desktop and putting it somewhere. And that would feel like avoiding something important. Trying to make it go away instead of encountering what’s there. So, I feel frustrated, and the day just begun. And soon the idea, how to begin, comes. And I begin. I get a draft out before walking and working on the taxes. My grandson and I take the dogs out. We walk them to the river and they both wade in the water at the edge. I show my grandson how to break open the dry milkweed pods, as we did last year, and let the feathery seeds fly into the open meadow with a wish for them to grow. At the beginning of the walk, while I waited on the driveway, he went to the garden where I have hung the wind chimes and he rings and rings them and I wait, enjoying the sound. Then he joins me. Suzi is walking with us, he says. Suzi, our angel dog, the dog we named the garden after. Yes, indeed, our angel Suzi is walking with us into the autumn morning.