I may have mentioned, but Tuesdays have become a mediative day for me. It starts with a quiet morning, where I have space to read and journal—but it’s amazing how that can set the tone for a whole day. Trevor worked out of the house at the shop, and so I had that quietude for all of the school hours, and miraculously, I used it. I used it to write.

In these post-MFA days and coming off The Summer of Sarah, I have found that it’s very difficult for me to write anything new. I spent two years engrossed in a singular novel project, I wasn’t even blogging with any regularity. I had forgotten that I like writing almost as much as I enjoy having written. I was just out of practice. I drafted most of a short story that had been swimming in my head, ever since I had the flash of inspiration that an essay I wrote but never published could easily serve as a bright little fiction as well. We’ll see what comes of it.

The day seemed to understand where I was headed. All day long, it looked as if it could storm, but it held off, until we were all home and then the skies unleashed. There was the brightest flash of lightning, right on the butte across the canyon, but with these storms a nearly daily occurrence, the trees and grasses were safe.

Also, the air is spicy. I wake up in the morning and I smell everything that’s about to unfold: Halloween and pumpkin bread, the start of fire season, me sneaking holiday songs and flavors even before Trevor’s Thanksgiving start-date. It’s coming.