Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
—Ode To Autumn” by John Keats
I am thankful for some time hanging out with my niece.
We played with toys. My poor knees can’t handle all that time on the floor, but she was having so much fun, so I was too.
I am thankful for a November 1st writing group night where I made the decision, with support from other writers, to try my hand at National Novel Writing Month again.
The site is still rather inaccessible and that is a problem, but that shouldn’t stop me from using the structure and the occasion of the month to start a novel I’ve wanted to start for years.
That launching evening, with others doing it, was just what I needed to start down the NaNo road for 30 days.
I am thankful for an hour of peaceful yoga.
I look more and more forward to that one hour each week.
I am doing it for physical reasons, of course, but mostly I need it for my mental state.
I am thankful for a tough violin lesson to follow an easy one.
After last week’s super positive lesson, I didn’t know what this week would bring.
It was more of a challenging week. This was strenuous, for sure, but then I decided I need that balance of both.
I am thankful for a package being sent to me.
I’m included in a winter issue of a literary magazine. My piece is a short one about the horizon.
Well, this is new and exciting because I received an email, informing me of how the magazine has sent out a package for me.
I am not certain, but I am guessing it includes a copy of the issue. I can’t wait to find this in my mailbox.
It comes out on November 15th.
But you can order it here, anytime:
Misadventures Mag, Issue 4: Winter 2017
There’s just something about holding a solid book, with my words in it, in my hands. It’s different from the online world.
It’s all a great privilege, but this is something that doesn’t happen to me every day.
I am thankful for a weekend extra writing social with chocolate.
I didn’t even think I liked Mars Bars, but that day I did.
We met at the museum in town. We have a room reserved there, for two hours, every Saturday for the month of November.
Having extra NaNo writing time set aside as a group can only help me.
Well, okay so not always a lot of writing happens in that group, but more than if I never went at all.
I am thankful my brother and his musician friends returned to practice in my basement.
I missed the absence of it, while lives changed and people got busy with other things.
I like having them down there. Every time they come, they thank me and I guess they worry they are imposing.
I am thankful I am going off of a medication that has, I think, been causing a dreadful side effect.
These aren’t the usual dreams. They are every night and it feels like they take up my entire sleep.
I wake feeling emotionally worn out and deeply affected. I guess you would call them nightmares, but they aren’t me running from monsters in dark places.
They are me being sexually assaulted, my parents being trapped in a collapsed building, and epic adventures that leave me feeling drained when I wake up and all day long. And then it’s time to go to sleep once again.
I hope it’s just from a medication I soon won’t be on. The other option is a reaction from some level of anxiety I’m feeling. I do feel stress, but this feels different and new. I hope it’s on its way out of my head and my life.
I am thankful for a long awaited piece of my writing in a big time literary mag.
WRITING LIFE: Accepting My Blindness As A Freelance Writer – Hippocampus Magazine
First of all, I just liked the word (the part of the brain), but then I discovered it was the name of a literary journal and I was intrigued.
Meaning of Hippocampus
I am thankful for Sade.
I have seen a lot of articles written about her lately, like this one:
Sade’s Eternal Cool – Longreads
I think she is one of the cooler artists around.