It looks like the organizer will be running a second section of my weekend writing retreat "New England Bards," probably in November. Already I've got a fat waiting list; if you want to be added, send me a note as the spaces may fill quickly. I'm flabbergasted at the intense interest in these online classes, but so pleased also. It will be such a treat to spend a weekend quietly reading and writing with you.

Last night I roasted a chicken for dinner, and today I'll boil down the bones: stock to store, broth for tonight's soup. The freezer is beginning to fill: mostly with greens . . . collards, kale, chard . . . but the drought has slowed the harvest. My tomatoes are ripening slowly; peppers are still on the small side. I do have enough basil for walnut pesto, so maybe I'll grind some up after work today.

I'm still reading Mantel's The Mirror and the Light, still hugely impressed with the writing and the character exploration. I'm scratching my way into a new editing project--a complicated translation. I'm beginning to plot out plantings for the bleak backyard. 

In the distance, winter crooks her finger.