Autumn darkness is creeping in, despite the weighted summer air. Now, when the alarm goes off, I turn on a lamp, heave myself up out of night, trudge downstairs into a brown gloom. 

Outside, this morning, is a vague suggestion of rain. No doubt that will be all we get. I begin to think there is no such thing as a downpour.

After my flurry of creation--long poem, book review--I'm reluctantly pushing my own writing aside and going back to editing. Paul is working evenings for the foreseeable future,  which means I'll have no home-alone time for the foreseeable future. But he sleeps late, so I'm trying to channel my inner mother-of-a-baby energy: edit while the child naps. And I'm trying to hold on to the pleasure of last week's accomplishment. Opportunity is fleeting.