As the seasons turn, the mild harvest days shorten and become clear yet cold. The house feels cold, because it is cold.

I focus on my distractions: feeble steps into Spanish, into photography, into playing the piano. Expecting it would bring me relief, yet I’m no longer blissfully unaware of my incompetence in these areas. I find no comfort yet in learning them, perhaps never will: they confront me with myself…

Spent some time with family, yet the grounding isn’t firm. They all felt somehow like me, not showing how we feel to each other. I’m grasping, while nature is heading for the big

hibernation.