I slept hard last night--not so much like a log; more like a rusty Packard parked in the woods. And Tom also slept hard, so much so that he fell asleep on the couch and forgot to come to bed and set the alarm, and now both of us are now groggy and confused.

Tom has an excuse, because he got his first Covid vaccine yesterday afternoon, though he says he feels fine, except for a sore arm. I don't know what my excuse is.

I did get my first seeds planted yesterday: peas, cilantro, arugula, lettuce, radishes. And now it's drizzling lightly, with a steadier rain forecast for tomorrow. This weather is ideal for a vegetable farmer.

Today I'll be editing again, and then teaching in the afternoon. Today we'll be talking about feelings . . . why poetry is so often the conduit for strong emotion, and how various contemporary poets have chosen to frame it. We'll look at poems by Kim Addonizio, Margaret Atwood, and Michael Casey, and the kids will write three drafts, and our hour together will fly.