I am back in the lonely saddle again, preparing to fill my long hours with reading, writing, editing, copying Rilke, and maybe packing . . . for while I was voyaging in Vermont, we received an offer on the house. So if all parties can work out an agreeable compromise, Tom and I will finally be able to take steps toward finding a place to live together in Portland.

In the meantime, limbo continues.

Today's projects include editing the Richard Wilbur bio, going to the bank, and boiling chicken bones to make stock for freezing. The darkness is very muggy this morning, but the forecast claims that autumn will be slipping in. Through the open window I can hear the crickets squeaking their end-of-summer song, and somewhere nearby a pileated woodpecker is cackling.

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Poetry-group members: Has everyone received his or her Geoffrey Hill collection yet? I believe we've been waiting on just one more person; and when she's ready, we'll get started.