September 19, 2014

Woke ebullient with a conviction of well-being, physical and mental. Joy at the beginning of this day with class makes me wonder if that’s the reason for the joy. Labor is labor, however rewarding. Studied my lines on the elliptical at the Y. Sat at a picnic table under a basswood at the Y, writing about the sliver of harvest moon under the sliver of harvest moon. Felt virtuous using that peculiar public space for poetry. Vivaldi on the CD as I write now. The golden swamp hibiscus is finally in bloom, and it was worth waiting for, vast stars of refined pale gold, like sunlight falling on autumn leaves.