Completely by accident, we watched two major-league pitchers at work last night--Eduardo Rodriguez of the Sox and Aaron Sanchez of the Blue Jays. Both happened to be making rehab appearances on an evening I happened to buy Sea Dogs tickets. For $11 apiece, we sat two rows up from the field, just beyond third base, and watched Eddie throw a beautiful four-inning start. What good fortune!

So we spent a sweet evening drinking Allagash and eating sausage sandwiches and chattering with our young people, and then suddenly we were accosted by old friends who happened to be in the park as well, and, altogether, it was an odd and serendipitous outing, followed by a peaceable walk home through the summer night air.

I hope to finish a batch of editing this morning, submit some poems to journals, hang towels on the line, and figure out how to cook quail on the grill. For the moment the house is quiet, though Tom will shortly fork himself out of bed and get ready for work. Heavy fog hangs over the neighborhood; someone's dog is barking to himself; I hear the distant pulse of the highway and the closer squeak of crickets in the trees and now a police siren rising and falling and fading away. Everything outdoors is soaked in dew.

Here's what Andrew Marvell has to say about it:

Such did the manna’s sacred dew distill,
White and entire, though congealed and chill,
Congealed on earth: but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of th’ almighty sun.