I dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed all morning, and then in the afternoon T and I ambled down the street to Porchfest, a free neighborhood music event, with bands set up in driveways and on porches, and families milling around in an atmosphere of general good cheer, surrounded by semi-okay performances, sprinkled now and then with good and/or sweet ones. And then we came home and I made breakfast for dinner: roasted potatoes with scallions and parsley; roasted red peppers and Green Zebra tomatoes, with eggs baked among the vegetables; a cucumber and cantaloupe salad.

Today: various telephone calls, some Frost Place and Monson planning. Maybe I'll send out some submissions.

I've been thinking a lot about that Amy Lowell poem I posted yesterday. One hundred autumns ago she wrote that small piece. One hundred autumns have passed, and still: here we are, striving to hold on to our tiny losses. A leaf. An edge of silver.