Basho and Peaches and I took a long rambling walk this morning. I love these frost-filled early North Carolina mornings more than I love anything anywhere on earth. I feel like myself for the first time in ages. Whole and strong and able to walk forever. Today I am 40 weeks pregnant. Any day any day any day.

Fall seems to bring with it more sense memory than any other season, don't you think? Every fall I am washed in nostalgia and sadness. Max died in fall 2001 and Frankie just one year ago. Suddenly I can't stop thinking about her. But also: persimmons, Mark and Ossie walking down to the river, driving to the library past all the frosted farmland, the lake in Gboro, Basho chasing the geese, writing poetry, hearing poetry, longing and more longing.

Melissa's visit is what started this all. I miss her and miss the me-that-was (or the me-that-I-remember). I miss writing and thinking about writing and I miss having such a friend to talk to. About everything. Jeff and I were both blue as a can be after she left. We've been starved for new conversation. I don't know how to make new friends and I'm not sure I even want to make new friends, but I do know I'm lonesome. I'm sad, too, that there will only be me and Jeff to welcome this new baby into the world (I mean, in person. There are many and sundry to welcome her or him across the wide world). I shouldn't be sad about this. I don't want lots of folks around for the birth. But damn. I sure wish we had just one person--Blythe or Britt or Melissa or Jeff's mom or Jessica.

Ah hell, I got myself worked up again about this. That's not what I meant.

I also feel excited. Strong and able, too. I've got this image in mind of Basho that helps steady me as I get ready. I mean, I know Bash is a boy and a castrated boy at that, but when I imagine him giving birth, I can see my way to doing it myself. Let go of the thinking thinking people brain. I wish I had posted this bit by Temple Grandin from her book, Animals in Translation. She's what made me understand--her and Ina May Gaskin and her monkey brain.

I'm talking gibberish here. Miss Issa (one of the kittens) is perched on my belly. I have to remember, for me, these animals are my company, my family, my baby's welcome home.