The bone-weariness is beginning to lift. Yesterday I managed to get the front gardens into shape, and today I'll catch up on vacuuming and floor washing, and maybe do some work in the side and back gardens, if the thunderstorms allow.

During the week I've been gone, the tomatoes have grown a foot, the peas are loaded with pods, beans are in flower, the strawberries are ripening. Last night we had a beautiful summer seafood feast: ceviche made with scallops, mahogany clams, and polpo, tossed with lime and cherry tomatoes, plus garden fennel, green onion, and cilantro, and served alongside a roasted potato salad, a rosato, and a viewing of The Thin Man.

I've got a stack of poem drafts to transcribe from my notebook, and maybe I'll get to that today; or maybe I won't. It turns out that Tom and I are glad to see each other . . . I mean, of course we are; but sometimes a  reunion feels especially dear. Which is to say: stuff can wait.