I had such a pleasant evening in Waterville--sitting around a restaurant table with poets and novelists and academics and local government officials, all personable and intelligent and eager to be friendly. Every once in a while, I remember that a social life might not be a bad thing.

Now, this morning, back in my hermitage, I note that the temperature came close to a frost last night. Even through my warm red bathrobe, I feel the chill of the unheated house. Summer is over.

Yesterday the Frost Place publicly announced my big news: Kerrin McCadden will be joining me as the new associate director of the Frost Place Conference on Poetry and Teaching. She worked with us last year as a guest faculty member, and I think she'll be a wonderful addition to the staff. Not only is she an accomplished poet, but she's also been a full-time teacher for many years, which will add a whole new coloration to the work we do as directors. I'm excited about the change, even as I'm sentimental about saying goodbye to Teresa Carson. But Teresa loves Kerrin as a successor, and the program, I think, will continue to grow and thrive.

So time skitters on, and the leaves redden and sift down through the cool air. I am thinking about cooking borscht tonight, even though I'll be the only one at the table to admire its jeweled shimmer in a white bowl. But a solitary pleasure is still pleasure.