Autumn Toward Winter

The wind whips, the rain slaps, the trees shake off their leaves (too soon, don't be in such a hurry). It is autumn turning to winter here. It is winter coming.

I am summoning the courage today to return to a book that I've been writing, off and on, for two years. An historical novel that, I fear, I've written too precisely. So that there isn't enough air between the words. So that a reader has to hear a very particular background song to hold the rhythm, therefore the characters, therefore the mood, in place.

I am up early, searching for air.