Heading south for the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. Possibly you won't hear from me for a few days; I have no idea what my computer access will be. However, the forecast is for rain rain rain, so at least you will have the chance to imagine hundreds of soggy versifiers wandering through the secret passageway in the House of Seven Gables or taking in the peculiarities of the Salem Wax Museum. The versifiers may or may not be disconsolate.
For the moment the sun continues to shine in Maine, I am wishing I were better at inventing fiddle leads, radishes and arugula are sprouting in the garden, Red Sox pitching really stinks, the barn dog ate all her breakfast, the dancing kitchen mouse was trapped, and the goat is in a bad mood. She threatened to bash me, but I gave her the evil eye so she thought better of it.