June 1, and the temperature is 39 degrees. It feels like the first day of Frost Place conference week out there: which is to say, freezing cold in summer. Northern New England is a crazy place.

I'm feeling somewhat more pulled together than I was yesterday: still full of grief and dread about the state of the nation and its people, but I worked in the garden and hung out with Paul and went for a long walk with Tom and made the best crab cakes I've ever eaten. The actions of my body were a sort of tonic, though a tonic is no solution, nor even a statement. But as far as a statement goes? Well, I'm not convinced I have the right to make one.

So Monday morning, the first day of June: I'll keep doing what I know I can do.  I'll read and I'll listen.