Friday, October 1, 2021

I woke to 42 degrees of chill pouring through my open bedroom window, and even toyed with the notion of turning on the furnace until I came to my senses and realized that downstairs was still plenty warm from last night's wood fire.

I did spend some time with the Iliad yesterday, and was just beginning to shift my poem draft around on the page, but then the phone rang and my poetry idyll was cut short. Today the paying work has started sifting back into my schedule. Among other October happenings, I'll be reading manuscripts for an annual poetry-press prize, and those collections have started showing up in my inbox. I know that fresh editing manuscripts are also on the way, and I might be teaching a day-long high school class later this month, and I've got that Homer weekend to prep for . . . [which you should hurry up and apply for because we only have three openings left, and the mix of participants is lovely, and this class has been specially designed for you] . . .

But it's October now, and I love October . . . my birthday month, the season of brilliant blue skies and cascading leaves. Maybe I'll be able to get outside into the garden, and start tearing out sunflowers and tomato plants. Maybe I'll sit outside with a sweater and a book and a big cup of tea.

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