A gray day today, getting blustery and damp, and dark. I have lit the fire. I want to bake cookies and make soup. Even though I’ve been grown up a long time, and now my children are grown up too, a day like this makes me feel like sewing some school clothes. An orange corduroy jacket, lined with polka dots, and with wooden toggle buttons, and deep pockets for collecting things. A gray flannel dress with tiny flowers and a white peter pan collar. A big red patchwork satchel with a buckle, for carrying my books. I always find this season a little bittersweet, and more so as I get older. We went for a slow walk yesterday, along a country road, with our old dog sniffing and ambling beside us. The fields are like paintings now, full of wild aster and goldenrod. The air is spiced with apples. As we rounded the bend, a hawk swooped up out of a tree, gave two flaps of his big wings and was gone, and a long, white feather dropped away from him, and drifted down. It took a long time to reach the ground.