Tom left at 5:30 a.m. to drive to work. For the moment the house is still draped with sleeping young people. But in a few hours they will all be gone, and I will have a stack of sheets and towels as a memento.

My incipient loneliness is a footnote to the real troubles of this world. Yesterday's news of the Orlando massacre; this morning's news that dear friends were injured in a car accident. . . . It's hard for me to know what to write. Anything I say about myself will be petty; anything I say about the larger terrors will be unnecessary. There they are: they speak for themselves. Evil rears its dragon head. Danger lurks on every country road.

Here's what I know. A small rain shimmers down onto the cars and roofs. The baby crows are silent. An orange azalea blazes in the morning mist. My young people sleep the sleep of the young.