I’ve taken my place at my post: the kitchen table. It’s become my favorite place to write. I occupy alone time in this space and, with the blinds raised, sit and feast upon the woods outside for inspiration. A million thoughts come to mind and my fingers try to catch them in their butterfly net.

I’m keeping a sleeping bag on the porch in which to wrap myself during Matt’s necessary smoke breaks. I bought a pumpkin and a month’s worth of firewood today, preparing to watch every last leaf fall. The Reese’s peanut butter cups aren’t far away, either. There is still life beauty standing before me, the words of Wordsworth pushing me toward the frame. I’m happy for these gifts.