DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. 
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First up this week: October … 
October's end and Halloween are nearly upon us. Samhain, the Celtic pagan festival, marked the end of the harvest season. And the beginning of the darker months. In the 8th century, Pope Gregory III designated November 1 as a day to honor all saints. All Saints' Day absorbed some Samhain traditions. The evening before was All Hallows' Eve, and later Halloween. Where I live, we've already had a bit of rain. Temperatures are dropping, as are the colorful leaves of autumn (The Under-The-Radar Destination In Northern California With The Most Beautiful Fall Foliage In The State). My mind is drifting to thoughts of the holiday season, and how we should be this year. November pending, whatever celebrations are planned, will soon be upon us.

Second up this week, Ochre … 
October and Halloween bring to mind pumpkins. I think "ochre" because orange sounds so common and fruity. Then I wonder what ochre really means. It certainly references color, from something yellow-y to something orange-y. Maybe even sienna, if I'm looking for interesting color words. Ochre is, according to Merriam-Webster: "an earthy usually red or yellow and often impure iron ore that is extensively used as a pigment … any of various chiefly yellow to orange pigments." That sounds about right for our seasonal squashes, doesn't it? Better than boring orange, ochre (or ocher) identifies a color range that includes most pumpkins I see. Other than in autumn, the word ochre seldom occurs to me. In my life, it is essentially seasonal. 

Third up this week, Oven … 
October and November feel like baking months. Although January is designated National Baking Month in the USA. Our National Baking Week was October 14-20 in 2023. And National Baker Day is September 23 each year. No matter. It's the Samhain season that feels right for baking. Temperatures are lower so we don’t mind the oven on. A hot oven is something we avoid at our house during the heat of summer. Add no extra heat! But now our cooking minds can shift to cakes and casseroles, breads and broiling. Oven-inspired aromas will fill our kitchen and home, I hope. Today I'm thinking about roasted chicken and bread pudding. I'm in favor of both. 

A Sweet Novella …
Glaciers, by Alexis M. Smith
Yet another slim volume. On its last page, Isabel (the protagonist and narrator) must share a story late during a party. Each of the remaining party-guests is asked to do so, each with a different prompt. Isabel is last. Her prompt: “Tell us a story about longing.” That about sums up this lovely novella. It’s one day in the life of a Portland, Oregon, library-employed book-repairer. When I picked up this book, I was expecting more about books and their repair. But they’re not really part of the story. It’s a love story, really. Before the book’s end, we realize that the love is requited, but left more-or-less unfulfilled … which isn’t unsatisfying. Isabel loves old things: used postcards and thrift-store clothing are key elements. There’s not much action. It’s only a day-in-the-life, after all, with Isabel’s memories interspersed. Every word and sentence counts in such a short piece, and the author’s words and sentences work perfectly here. The only thing I've ever read that includes both the word "susurration" and the kissing of a glacier. A very satisfying read. 

And a bit more … 

"Song for Autumn" by Mary Oliver

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come – six, a dozen – to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.


And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver's "Sometimes"