This morning I received an email from Judy Taylor, painter of the murals that I mention in my essay "Labor: A Romance," telling me that she'd read the piece, liked it, and was sharing it with others.  I don't know Judy personally, so this was a surprise and an honor. I'm glad to know that what I said made sense to her.


Today I leave for the Frost Place; and as usual, I have no idea about whether or not I'll be able to write to you while I'm gone. The weather is supposed to shift from crazy humid to crazy dank. Ergo, packing is difficult.


I'm also trying to decide what to read tomorrow night. If you have suggestions, feel free to leave me a note.


And the violin comes too. Maybe it will emerge from its case, maybe not. It's like a caterpillar that way.