Well, I have vacuumed out my car so that poets may ride in it without flinching. And I have printed all of my paperwork, and I have set aside a box of new books for sale, and I have watered the houseplants, and I have dealt (organically, if not kindly) with an invasion of biting red ants in my herb garden. Today, on the final slide to the Frost Place, I need to plan my reading, gather up some backlist books for donation, decide what clothes to pack in my suitcase (always an awful hour), and trim yard weeds--undoubtedly in the rain.

I feel, as I always feel, as if I'm forgetting something important. In my dreams last night I was a party planner for a very odd wedding, a job that required me to sew mother-in-law outfits that bore a certain resemblance to Goodwill upholstery and also had a pompom fringe swinging from the waistband. Possibly the scenario was an allegory.

For now, I am happy to be doing nothing--neither dreaming nor packing. My sinuses are stuffed with pollen, the air is grouchy with impending rain, and this cup of hot black coffee is the best thing on earth.