cashmere ovenbird I woke to the sound of rain and with it the arrival of fall. The West coast autumn brings atmospheric rivers, nights of heavy rain shifting into days of gentle mist. The fog arrives and erases distance, limiting vision to a twenty foot radius. I used to hate the darkness but now I like the softness it brings: the muted greys of the clouds reflecting off the ocean, the silver skins of birch trees, the monotone crunch of the gravel path I walk every day with my hood pulled up to keep water from my eyes. This morning it was cold enough to wear a sweater. I picked a blue hand_me_down that I love–a mix of lambswool, angora, and cashmere. It was like coming home to my own body. I feel most myself dressed in knits that trap heat against my heart. I like natural fibers that smell, ever so slightly, of the sheep that wore them before they were spun into tendrils of comfort for my wind chilled shoulders. In the absence of arms to hold me, this will do: garments that carry animal memories along the staple length of each strand–dry hay, sweet grass, full belly. 250914 what's it to you? who go blather from