I’m a Syracuse kid, so the heat doesn’t go on until November 1st, even though the 1st frost is likely to arrive overnight and all my friends already hit the dial. Nope. I’m on my front porch, dog over my shoulders (a 48lb. blanket) and I have a space heater cranking lightly (the one left behind by the kid). And I’m sitting behind the skeleton of a frog and a cranium lit up with grapefruit glaze - Halloween is coming, after all, and yesterday I wrote about aging. But I caught the clouds this evening floating northeast from the Long Island sound, painted with cotton candy above the homes of my neighbors. Perhaps I should paint an exotic bird on the telephone wires. I should be grading, I should be planning, I should be submitting, but I’m reflecting instead. This is the joy of Write Out…getting outdoors to write (but it’s cold and I can’t type with gloves on. I moved inside and found the heater, contradicting myself in the comfort of a home). Write In(side) it must be. I’d love a snack, but ice-cream is probably not a good idea. Is it too early for hot chocolate? If it wasn’t sober October, I’d likely be sipping bourbon & bouncing on these clouds. Alas, I’ll find the calm in the light, rare sight, in these darker days. And I’ll also play with wind-up toys -100 of them that arrived in the mail this afternoon. ~b.r.crandall
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