I apologize for not writing yesterday, but I was on the road early, heading west to Farmington for a whirlwind filming session. Wes McNair, the state's poet laureate, had invited a dozen or so Maine poets to read two poems for the camera and then informally answer two questions about poetic influence. Eventually edited versions of these videos will appear on a website called Poets in Public, a project linked to Wes's Take Heart newspaper column, which is a Maine-based version of Ted Kooser's American Life in Poetry. So on a rainy Saturday morning, in the darkened halls of a mostly empty state university building, I kept running into poets I knew, who were likewise gently pacing the dim corridors, staring around in bemusement and curiosity while also worrying about their hair. It was kind of comic.

The timing of the sessions was fortuitous, weather-wise. Today we are supposed to get smacked with our first winter storm--five to nine inches of heavy slush combined with strong winds and trees that are still carrying leaves . . . a guaranteed power outage, I'd say. So if you don't hear from me tomorrow morning, be assured that the wood stove is burning brightly, the kettle is steaming on the gas range, the candles are lit, and we are spending a pleasant few hours around the kitchen table peering at the dim reflections of Scrabble tiles. Here's hoping the off-the-grid bliss doesn't devolve into no water and a warming freezer. That always takes the shine off the candle fun.

If I have power tomorrow, I might write an epistle to you about the Maine governor's race. Unless I find something better to write about.