I feel pretty quiet this week. I started a list of things I wanted to talk about driving home from carpool but they were all mostly stupid poem things, like mist just grazing the blurry mountains, leftover black-eyed susans, and a crow staring me down from the middle of the road. Nothing real. I really like this time of year but I don't know what to make of it just now.
I spent a lot of time tonight practicing in front of a mirror for that poetry thing. I think my voice sounds entirely like somebody else's when I hear myself read. This is like the first time I've read anywhere near where I live, let alone the town I work in. I'm nervous and excited at that prospect.
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