Now

by Greg Watson

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flown past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed
your mouth with the force of language,

to have spoken your name at all.

Dazzling

Nothing makes you appreciate your health and vitality as much as losing it, even temporarily.

Suddenly, the ability to bound out to the mailbox is a gift. Carrying a laundry basket with ease truly makes you a domestic goddess, and lugging groceries up the stairs is like possessing superpowers.

And the colors outside? They seem even brighter and more beautiful.

      

November

The rain arrived on Halloween night and fell steadily and heavily into this dark and dreary Sunday. Despite the extra hour of sleep, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open this morning and couldn't resist the pull of my big red sofa.

The Girl needed to get supplies for a science project so she and I ventured out to A.C. Moore Crafts this afternoon. We dodged puddles as we crossed the slick black pavement on our way to the potpourri-scented air behind those heavy doors. It is not an attractive store, but we love to come here and soak in all the potential for creativity looming under the stark fluorescent lights.

This is America, so we weren't surprised that on the first day of November, all things Christmas had taken center stage in the merchandising of the front of the store. Christmas music was being piped into every corner, and normally this annoys me, but much to my surprise I didn't mind.

OK, I admit it, I was ENJOYING the music--the very same music that I ban from my own home until days before Christmas. Was it the deep gray of the day? My fuzzy red sweater? The sense of happy possibility that I always feel in art stores? I don't know, but the Girl I both felt glimmers of Christmas spirit, even with the fall leaves still lingering on the trees.

I came home and thought about Christmas cards and family photos and things I might make, things I might give. It made the gathering gloom outside my windows a bit less oppressive.

To be honest, some years Christmas preparations have felt more like a demanding second job to me than a celebration. Maybe this year will be different--lighter, happier, freer. Let's hope so.

Sock Monkey Love

My friend Lisa has such a warm and generous spirit. I see it in the way she loves her family and her two sons, her willingness to put volunteer hours in every week at her boys' school, and the kindness she extends to her friends.

So often when I see her,  she is bearing small and thoughtful gifts. A necklace she whipped up for my daughter, a bookmark for me featuring beads and bird charms (favorite symbols of mine), or a bar of Belgian chocolate.

I've been facing a few challenges behind the scenes at Compost Studios, and Lisa knew about them. She invited me to join her for a Girls' Night Out at her friend Barb's house, and when she came to pick me up, she had a surprise for me. I gave a little squeal when I pulled this out of the bag.

Every time I see this, it makes me smile big and wide like a monkey. The dancing blue sock monkey on this side of the mug has a companion red sock monkey on the opposite side who is sporting a purple cap and waving with his lime green paw. They make me want to wave back or maybe dance a little bit when no one is looking. Those cute bouncy polka dots on the outside of the mug line the inside of the rim too. I just love details like that.

Thanks Lisa! As the Girl always says, "Mama, you have the BEST friends."

Autumn peaks (and peeks)

A peek at autumn in my corner of the world. These photos were taken last Sunday before gray clouds and heavy rains blew in and thinned the foliage.