Today, on the first Monday of the new holiday year, I'll be prepping for Wednesday's class and worrying about whether or not the class will even happen. The forecast is unclear, but even the mildest scenarios predict snow during bus time. And given that my kids will be traveling to Monson from all over the north country, this does not sound like a good prognosis for us.

Anyhow, I'll be getting myself ready, along with running errands, and going to a yoga class, and cleaning floors, and working on a poem, and maybe tinkering some more with that manuscript.

Rereading Howards End is making me a little tearful, given that it's all about a love affair with a place. I don't think I could have managed to take it off the shelf even a year ago. But my Harmony wound is not so fresh as it was.

Here's another small poem from the embryo manuscript. It appeared not too long ago in Scoundrel Time.

Walking into Town

Dawn Potter 

this road is empty for most of the day but

when the log trucks whip over the ridge

jake-breaking belching diesel 

then watch out deer

the soot-stained sky glowers

snow is on the way snow

is always on the way

& the tar is always buckled with potholes &

frostheaves & in the ditch today

old mrs richards is hunting for budweiser cans

for mountain dew bottles to trade

down at the store for baloney to feed

her grandson he’s three & he’s smart

she tells me he’s three 

& his teeth are rotting out of his head