breath

This morning was the first morning of the season where I could see my breath while running. I think that a little dread accompanies that white sheet of air, knowing that October comes within the day and for the next four or five months, not as much skin can be exposed. I love October, though, and Halloween is my favorite holiday. I love October orange and pumpkins and soccer moms that wear those knitted Fall sweaters. Actually it reminds me a lot of what I miss about Fishers in Indy. The hay. I always felt so lonely there, but the season was a cure all. Maybe it will be true again. I’ll try to take in October down in Peninsula. There are a lot of little festivals that go on down there during the fall. I realize that I sound a bit sentimental, but the week has been long. We had Philip Levine and Anele Rubin in to read, and Anele has been hosing a workshop all week, which I have attended and feel all the more expanded for it. At lunch, Philip talked about how he studied with Lowell and Barryman at Iowa. But perhaps the story that stole my breath was when he told of the time he was 18 and hitchhiked from Detroit to New York City to meet Dylan Thomas. He walked right into the back of the auditorium and, as he said, “shook his fat little hand.”