Misty Morning

Background music: "Chelsea Morning," Joni Mitchell

I woke up to white mist all around the neighborhood this morning, but it's already floated away on this gently cloudy day, everything still wet from the long rain.

I stepped outside into a crow conference, and a squirrel on the tip of the roof over the bed of balsam, daisy, and mum, spoke to me in the rhythm of "Why are you here? Why are you here?"

Good question.

Of course, he might have been talking to the crows or the howling dogs.

Speaking of which, I sent off some poems with animals in them to YB Poetry, deadline November 20 for the Animals issue, and you might want to, too! If so, go here for guidelines.

And here is their current donkey or mule.

Why be poetry, indeed? Because, evidently, I can't be anything else. Likewise, why be here. Take that, you insistent squirrel on the roof!

Even as I write, the sun's returning. The sweet autumn clematis tumbles all over the fence, where I can leave it in peace, only tearing away what strangles the lilac or approaches the electrical wires.

Later-blooming daisies in various pastels have patiently opened after the showier gloriosa daisies.

Sweet William persists, and touch-me-not.

And tomorrow we remember.