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Last week was a curmudgeony week. It was hibernation: in this house, in this room, in this bed. It was books propped against a pillow, irritated. Reading to slip away, to escape the nastiness of grading, of copying and pasting, of deadlines.

There are moments when re-charge is the only option.

This week I have decided all will be done, all will fall into place rightly.

And if I need some sort of boost, here are some things from former high school students recently:
- A student emailed me a few days ago, asking me to take a look at a draft of her essay for AP Lit. I think I didn't reply in time to be helpful, but that trust is a sweet thing.
- Another student emailed me from the library because she's bored. We're arranging to go on another Twin Cities field trip; last was in August when we went to a poetry reading together.
- And while grocery shopping at the end of last night, feeling a bit down about various things, a student spotted me and told me she missed me at school and enjoyed class.

Last night, dinner with Ryan: I read him a stanza of a poem and he scrunched up his face, considering where to take it next. No suggestions, but a sweet conversation. He is adorable when he hasn't had enough sleep.

Tonight: runnning again. It isn't fair to call it that. Walk a block, shuffle a block, more like. We've done it twice now, and I'm still alive and not entirely bitter when the shiny-white shoes come out of the box. I joke about how easy he has it without the same weight distribution; women have some unfair shapes when it comes to that kind of pacing.

Autumn is passing; the leaves are now settled on the lawn, a noisy street sweeper goes by as I write this. I wait patiently, dream sometimes, of the first snow. I will be tired of it come February or March, but there is always something magical about those first flakes, and the best, when one is absolutely trapped inside, the snow blower inching forward, the dogs leaping about in the backyard as you figure a path out for your cars.