Tom's new website is finally up, and I think it's beautiful.
A spray of white lilac is blooming on my kitchen table.
I'm rereading John Fowles's The Magus, which for some reason is one of my favorite novels, though I really don't understand what's going on in it.
Saturday morning, Saturday morning. What shall I do with it? I can't decide.
The poem is coming along. It may or may not be finished. I may or may not glance at it. I may or may not despise it if I do.
I wonder if other animals get headaches, or if they are only a human burden?