Right

The dogs arrive before sunrise now, impatiently whining at the door. They come in, fur cold, tails impatient. Fall arrived, as though overnight. By afternoon, the sun has washed the chill from your floors, and you walk around the property in gratitude, the dogs following closely behind. 

We have to sweep a scorpion off the front door entrance 

I sit in the temple, meditating, see opportunities play out behind my closed eyelids. He writes to ask if I won't consider staying longer, and I wonder why I haven't thought of that myself. Sit in piles of poetry, letting my imagination run away with me, because such is my to-do list and who am I to question it. My skin grows dry in the desert, my hair my fears, but I cannot be angry. 

Everything paints itself in futures, when you've decided to believe there will be one to be painted on.