So I'm sitting here at my boss' computer because she's not coming in today and there has to be someone visible at all times so the hordes of potential Writing Center supplicants are encouraged to enter. So far I've answered the phone once, told someone it was ok to change their appointment, and told someone else that no, Ms. Brady wouldn't be in today. Today I am a secretary, not a tutor. My face feels stretched from smiling.

It's a good job though; one for someone who likes to see their visitors going out looking like they've been helped. It has the potential for great satisfaction and great frustration. It can be a trial of character or a truly productive and dynamic tennis match of ideas. Such is the flow of creativity.

The dedicated maple tree outside my window is beginning to turn; leaves touched with the true glowing scarlet of Acer rubrum flicker and show their silver backs in the newly brisk wind. It's a breeze that has a fresh bite in its breath; an autumn breeze that speaks of change. I feel energized by it; tempted to join in the last desperate dance of the leaves that spiral and float in partnership with the wind.