I came back from band practice last night to see a porcupine waddling away among the trees. The air was scented with skunk, and Ruckus was perched jauntily on the stoop. He smelled strange--not exactly like he'd been sprayed, more like he'd just returned from a friendly dinner party with his striped friends down the street. At least there were no porcupine quills involved. But I did have to give him a bath, an activity that has never been on my list of "things I wish I could do at 10 p.m." However, he and I both survived, sort of unscathed; and this morning he doesn't smell too bad.

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There are new comments on the Geoffrey Hill thread, so check them out and add your own. Do I have a volunteer to choose the next Hill poem to discuss? Come on; you know you want to.

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Tonight I'll be helping Adrian Blevins host Two Cent Talks, a reading series in Waterville, which will be featuring Arielle Greenberg and Bill Roorbach. The reading starts at 5:30 p.m., with dinner afterward. Please come sit with me.

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Do any of my local friends want (1) pink lupine seeds or (2) dahlia tubers [(a) dark red with flat petals or (b) light pink with spiky petals]? I doubt I will be able to fit lupines into my new yard, and I have enough dahlia tubers to fill an acre.

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What is it with these mean bluejays? Now there's one poking at the window screen like he's trying to break into the house.