It's cold out there, as I just discovered while wrangling the recycling bin to the curb in my slippers and nearly killing myself on the icy driveway. I'm glad to be done with that chore, and back to sitting on the couch with my coffee.

We're in for a cold snap this weekend--so cold that I think it will be unpleasant to skate, at least on Saturday. I don't know what I'll do instead, now that I've finished my seed order and the Bills are done playing football for the season. No doubt Paul will unearth another sports project--college basketball, I expect--and I've got a couple hundred more pages of Lonesome Dove to devour. Unfortunately I'm reaching the point where my favorite characters are about to start dying, so that might slow me down a little.

This morning, before yoga, I'm going to work a bit on my Accident Sonnet revisions and read some Millay. Probably I'll edit later in the morning, or maybe I'll just take the day to do poet stuff. Fridays are good for that.

I feel bright-eyed this morning, but kind of unmoored, as if anything could happen. And yet the future will still be laundry and cooking, like always.