Twisted ankle + rain slick sidewalks = a day indoors for me. I will find peace in reading poetry, knitting with cotton and bamboo, eating orange slices, and sipping peppermint hot cocoa.

Not every walk can be calm. This one, the dogs were a bit frantic at other leashed dogs, and at the end, there was a snap! and the pain of a slightly twisted ankle.

An extra walk today; Ryan invited me along when I unexpectedly came home a little earlier than planned this afternoon, this time a return to the top of Memorial Bluff as the evening light set in, the blue hour. A cluster of birds in the trees, a helicopter cutting a sky's path, five other big-dogs in the woods, milkweed lit up by the setting sun. More pictures of our stroll in this post.

Ten o'clock is such a wonderful time for a walk--the neighborhood is quiet, just a few 'morning!' waves, the rush to work and school is done, the sun is perfectly clear, the air brisk. Brilliant red of amur maples in the boulevards.

Ryan's walk. He took the pups on a sunset walk up Memorial Bluff. Those sweet dogs are getting spoiled. I love the way the slant of the sun and the slant of the moth below interact.

Morning walk: the light is dim and small nocturnal creatures linger. A fistful of sparrows open into the sky. Mahagony colored horse chestnuts line our front walk.

Afternoon hike, a return to Memorial Bluff, which is now closed to motor traffic for the season. There are stairs, buried beneath a layer of autumn leaves, that take the walker off the paved road and onto a wooded path, collecting small reddish ticks and burs along the way. We heard the echo of an eagle call above and Penelope stirred up a whirling grouse. Buckthorn, paper birch, sugar maple, smooth sumac, bur oak. Prairie and forest. Full set of pictures in this post on my field | work blog.

From afternoon until beyond the sun's setting: an autumn hike at Interstate State Park with girl friends from the MFA program. On this 2.5 mile trail (1.25, technically, one-way): the St Croix river, a location geologists claim should have cleaved the continent in two so many years ago; the strangeness of glacial potholes; bur oaks and red juniper, identified with my new little guide; smooth stone stairs and well worn wooden slats, slick with rotting leaves; my own body slickening beneath heavy wool sweater and wool socks; that numb-toes feeling in hiking boots; contemplating woodsy poems; everything blurred edges. For many, many more images from this hike, all favorites, check out this post on my field | work blog.

Ryan's walk. Late morning, Memorial Park Bluff. This was an image Ryan sent me from his camera phone of his own walk today with the two dogs. Leashless, two bald eagles high in the sky, plenty of gold on the ground.

Late lunchtime, first major snow of the academic year. It began as rain, then rainy slush, and now it's slushy snow. We went to Colville Park, and, taking advantage of being the only ones there, I let the dogs off their leashes. In the woods, I could hear that shush of snow-in-leaves and a few times got jumpy, thinking that thick plop was someone behind us. A few crows, green grass beneath snow, still vibrant oranges and reds in the trees, Penelope's snail trails through the lawn, calling the dogs back, that doggie grin that is like nothing else in the world, wet paws, dragging a slush rock in my pants cuff, my eyebrows icy caterpillars, the silence of snow while waiting beneath a bridge. To see the full set of pictures, which really are delightful (you'll see why I cursed myself for the limit of one-a-walk), see this post my my field | work blog.

Evening, neighbor’s Halloween lights. Just as we were coming home, Zephyr leaped onto a neighbor’s lawn like a mountain goat, onto the landscaped paneling, to greet, or perhaps challenge, a neighborhood dog. Penelope walked to the left and behind me the whole while; she has a slight limp, which always gets my heart squishy.