On Saturday I received a gift in the mail: a complimentary copy of Michael Casey's 2004 collection Raiding a Whorehouse. As I've written before, I like Casey's poetry very much, but I don't know him personally. So a few days ago, when I received a letter from him, I was surprised and happy. Apparently he had seen me make mention of him here and wrote to say he was having the publisher forward me another book. I haven't yet been able to finish it, however, because my husband plucked it off the coffee table and started reading it first. Since Tom and I don't often read the same books, this in itself is saying something.

(Sample: what Tom's reading: Casey and Herodotus; what I'm reading: Blake and Alice Munro.)

Today I think I will attempt to write a few words about William Blake. I also plan to take a walk in the woods and attend an elementary school soccer game, as well as feed animals, do laundry, and rip out frost-nipped cucumber plants. I have not been employed for a few weeks, which worries yet delights me.

Dinner tonight (if the chickens thaw in time): bantam rooster stew with dill-and-cottage-cheese dumplings; arugula, radish, and Jerusalem artichoke salad; something or other for dessert.