Food for Thought

It's the last week of October.  Officially.  That means that, in five days, November--the month of pre-holiday anxieties, chunky sweaters, and the Macy's parade (!)--will be upon us.  But I guess I'm probably getting ahead of myself now because November is, despite its impending arrival, a good 120 hours away.  And Halloween is arriving before November does, anyway.
Oh, God.  Halloween.  I love Halloween a little bit more than I should.  And not because of the candy (which reminds me--only buy fair trade chocolate!).

Corpse Bride: a Halloween must and
one of the defining films of my unorthodox youth.

  In less seasonal news, Iris, Jill, and I were looking through poetry this weekend (because yes, we do that often!) and found a quote by Gibbons Ruark, a man who writes poems as awesome as his name. It's about the time that it takes to write a poem (or a story or anything, really), and it embodies how we feel about art in general:

"If a poet has finished a new poem and somebody asks him how long it took, he can legitimately (if facilely) recall his age and give that number of years as an answer.  Every durable poem must have the whole weight of a poet's years behind it."

Yeah.  Let that sink in a minute.  It sort of feels like their are tiny fireworks of accord going off in my chest right now because, suddenly, everything makes sense.

<3 Frances