I've been undergoing that particular purgatory known as "applying for grants." Ugh. The worst part is having to ask other people for references. I'm always ashamed to have to beg for kind words. But c'est la philanthropic-foundation vie. I wish it weren't.

In brighter news, I did have a poem accepted yesterday, a sonnet that has been rejected many and many a time. And this morning two pileated woodpeckers were quarreling in my yard. They were extremely loud, in a Loony Tunes kind of way, and were, on the whole, not a bad comedy skit to wake up to.

So now I am off to fork the boys out of bed, and haul them to their doctors' appointments, and then we'll go pick some blueberries and, with luck, not be stung by wasps.

What would Wordsworth say? He would say:

We were a noisy crew; the sun in heaven

Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours.

I kid you not: I glanced down at The Prelude, and those were the first lines I read.

The Spooky Book Fates have me at their mercy.