the farmers market is winding down. one of the farmers said gladly, this is his last day, he's ready to hibernate and read. the apple farmer gave me an extra apple. a truck was watering thick sod laid in a path to the obamalandgrab. 

i feel centered in my gut and groin. my head feels heavy on a stalk like a sunflower at the end of season. 

we're going to stay with the succession, no matter what comes. where else would we go? we'll find sustenance in memory and anticipation, in witness, from the inside.