Thursday morning already! For some reason this week is flying by. Certainly I'm getting stuff done: I'm well on the way to finishing my current editing assignment, and I've been reading steadily and voraciously, a joy I mostly lost during the trumpdemic. Less doom-scrolling, more hard exercise, stress-related digestive issues vanishing, concentration levels increasing: I feel like I'm shedding some kind of horrible locust carapace. Honestly, I feel so much better that I worry about what I was like before, when I thought I was coping.

This morning, I'm going to start with Millay, first thing, before I go to work. I do have all of my usual house chores to juggle, and I also need to run some errands in the afternoon, but I think my brain is in a good state for poems today. Almost I am feeling that small rise, that April-wind sensation, the shiver of hearing a chickadee's first spring song: I want to lift my nose into the air, like a horse or a dog, and then roll in the new grass. I know it's January in Maine. But I'm coming back to life anyway.