My first day back in the room went well. I set up my mat for my exercise class; then folded it away and edited at the standing desk all morning; then ran some errands (hardware store, Italian market, fishmonger); then sat in my chair by the window and looked at some editorial suggestions for a poem that's coming out shortly. The dining-room chair is not an ideal reading seat, but it's not the worst either. It'll do until something better comes along.

Today will more or less be a repeat of yesterday, minus the errands, plus some yard work. Late yesterday afternoon, a giant load of dirt arrived, destined for the new bed out back, but I can't start moving it till Tom stakes out the bed pattern. We had no idea we'd be able to get a soil delivery so quickly: in previous years I've kicked my heels for months on a compost waitlist. This year: instant dirt gratification.

I need to spend time with the Odyssey today, as Teresa and I are finally going to be able to restart our phone poetry conversations. Both of us were so busy in June and July that we had to let our schedule sag. But now we're ready to begin again. Yesterday I finished reading Henry Green's Nothing and now I'm delving into The Complete First Edition: The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm, a book that actually belongs to Paul but was too fat for him to move into his little space. I've got a thrift-store Louise Erdrich novel waiting in the wings, and Sappho sitting in my study window, and I hope, now that I am no longer a part-time loner, to spend a whole lot of time with all of these books.

So: exercise, work, gardening, reading, an empty house . . . all of this should lead into writing. I just need to be patient.