September 21, 2014

Autumn imperceptible, all the blooms still blooming.

I finished my workout at the Y and it was still dark. A tiny slim moon sailed above downtown. I sat down at the picnic table under the basswood at the edge of the YMCA parking lot, and I wrote a poem. I wonder if that had ever been done, there and then, before. It felt wonderful, actually, as though I were the Recording Angel.

A bit of vertigo. I’ll blame last night’s wine for a while longer.

Strange, misty morning. The mist makes the houses look like cut-outs pressed flat against a dark wall.

Painted yesterday. Gardened. Transcribed poems from notebooks pried from the corners of the car.