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These days, the Canada geese perform at the orchestra. At dusk, the pond is flocked as they tarry before taking off under the moon, their honking imitating Hong Kong traffic. 

Between work and the de-magicaling Cinderella hour, I paint and draw, read articles for my Saturday morning class, walk under the changing leaves, sit in splotches of sunlight at coffee shop patios, sing Jazz and hymns in the paintbrush closet, sip imaginary tea with Nora, fold the red clay into shapes to be worn, tickle and talk with the little ones after supper and coo at the squiggly babe who is learning to use his feet. I am content. There is so much joy in this life. 

Two Mondays ago, Kat, my sister Bekah, and I became wanderers along the St. Croix River, exploring below the bridge, crossing a shallow parting beside the river over a hollow log, climbing treetops, wading barefoot along the sand-shore and in between the golden grasses. Our souls raged in us and the beauty surrounding and in the September winds filled us. God, you are beautiful. 

Just a peek into our afternoon (now the park is closed due to the government shutdown). 

Off to climb the roads, m