As you all know, it didn't happen like that. I cleaned a closet. That's all. One closet. But that closet was in a catastrophic state of disrepair. And I feel better now that it's cleaned out. Which means, perhaps tomorrow will be a tad more romantic.
Also, it turned to fall here. The air is cool. An oak leaf bopped me on the head this morning on my way in from the garden. My almost-four-year-old daughter didn't cry when I dropped her off. My three-month-old son giggled when I kissed the cheesy goodness in his neck. And late last night I read poetry.
Here is a bit for you, a few short sections of Robert Hass's poem "The Beginning of September" from his book Praise.
In the summer
peaches the color of sunrise
In the fall
plums the color of dusk
little dragonfly quickness of summer mornings
this is a prayer
this is the body dressed in its own warmth
at the change of the seasons
There are not always melons
There are always stories
Good day, you all.