Fall is creeping in on us. Seasons change on the mountain before anywhere else. We've started to close the windows at night.
I've started work at the newspaper. I'm working in Arts and Entertainment and am learning about the eclectic weekly gatherings here in Asheville; everything from Medieval re-enactment groups at the Botanical Gardens to local band listings and music venues. It's a good job and hopefully, with time and confidence, I'll be able to make it a more creative one (one that will including more writing). Writing. Another mountain in my life. I seem to have found a routine here, and now I need to find writing. Stories, slowly, about a momma I met who's raising a beautiful boy all on her own. He raises his fists into the air and shouts, "Love". Stories about a family in the middle of great change, about fathers across the sea, about a woman finding her way, somehow, up a steep mountain-side. About new faces, slow car rides, fires and rituals, women and men; about a slow sense of acceptance. And the list keeps going. It grows each day, even from behind a desk. Reflection, thought, fuel. And the greatest lesson of all: slowness is careful. As my father always says, "We have eternity."
Another blanket. Fist to the sky: LOVE.