Reading poem proofs, beginning a new copyediting job, researching the unknown life of Marie de France.

Vacuuming the hopeless living room rug, yanking out frost-fried cosmos and bachelors' buttons, washing boy clothes.

Splitting firewood, stacking firewood, listening to woodpeckers and squirrels, picking burrs out of the poodle's ears.

Writing, worrying about my writing, not worrying about my writing, reading about mosquitoes in the Everglades, drinking coffee, fruitlessly hunting for a stamp.

Drinking red wine, eating tomato pie, watching baseball, discussing Hemingway and/or starting pitchers, not driving to Portland to see the Flaming Lips concert but waving good-bye to those who are.

Listening to wind and coyotes, dreaming strange dreams.