A collection

a bouquet of yellow maple leaves collected under blue fall sky
crushed by my son's small hands a day after first snow
a goose or duck down feather
onion skins peeled by my daughter who has just learned to walk and my son awaiting patiently for her to talk
mouse droppings
a dust bunny of my last orange cat's hair and mine and bits of us all
sand from the lake
sand from the beach
a glass shard from the smashed shot glass

spiral

I found my way back

eventually.



A friend asked what this season-autumn does for writer's writing and reader's reading...


I am compulsively collecting books and writing snippets like a squirrel with acorns storing them away and hiding them places I'm not sure I'll find them again. A little here and there, playing the odds, so which ever book I open or journal I read I will find something about nature or my babies or magic and these are the things that will fill me up during the long night of winter.