When Nothing Is Left Except Light on Your Fur

It’s fall, and though it’s still bone-dry in Seattle (what is this dry spell? We should be up to our elbows in water by now), the leaves are turning, the nights are getting cold, and my mind is turning toward changes happening all around me. Many of my closest friends are in a transitional period this fall–moving to new cities, leaving old relationships, starting new jobs, having new books hit the stores. It’s a time of change for me, too; I’m coming up on a new decade of life next month, realizing that I have to find greater balance between my life and work, putting in last bits of work before Burn This House comes out in March, and wrapping up a new book project while saying goodbye to an old one that just didn’t go where I wanted it to. It’s both an exciting and a scary time, one in which I take comfort in (no surprise) poetry. I’ve been coming back to a favorite poem lately: “A Rabbit as King of The Ghosts” by Wallace Stevens. It’s a poem that makes me feel at peace with the world as blusters and changes around me. You can read the poem here, and I hope it does the same for you.

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