My poem "Hearth Song" is up at Vox Populi this morning.
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It's another wet day here, but a mild one, with the temperature already in the 50s and a thick, humid drizzle stifling the air. The pansies and lettuces on the deck are basking in the dampness, and the dog-walkers are uncowed.
I finished copying out Carruth's "The Sleeping Beauty" yesterday: it turned out to fill more than 60 document pages . . . not exactly a Paradise Lost-sized project but large enough. Yet, as always after a copying project, I feel bereft. What should I work on next? I may turn to Shakespeare. I've already done the sonnets, but I could copy out an entire play. I wonder what that would be like. I think I should choose one I haven't read or seen--say, Coriolanus. But I will give myself a few days to see if something else becomes more urgent.
Today I'll be beginning a new editing project, working on curriculum for my upcoming environmental-writing seminar, and doing a lot of laundry. Tomorrow I'm spending the morning with the ELL high schoolers on a writing and photography field trip; Friday I'm departing at the tail end of night to pick up my son at college. The days plod along, scuttle along, leap-frog along; they trip over their own shoelaces; they vault into the lead and collapse into sinkholes. "Nevertheless, blindly, we _____."