October

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 It wearies, at times, the way writing goes on forever.  

It mimics other things that promise a "forever" (unwanted) like the virus that will one day be memory but currently has set up occupation in our lives (if not our bodies).

A project that unfolds and teases with conclusion only to unfold some more. 

(Don't hex this day!: talking to a friend who's anxious & frightened about whatever's to come, you calmed her with a focus on This Moment -- perhaps a little too calmly calmed her ["Are you medicated?" No, I told her, "I am meditated"... And it's true,

this is a day freshened by less than 1/8 inch of rain, colors are pointed, the air feels good to breathe and autumn continues to unfurl its carpet...

I came up to this room to open to the book; it's been weeks; I feel its welcome (as opposed to feeling its: burden)

So this is all you're going to get, today, dear Reader (except for any photos I may upload).


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