A thin layer of white crusts the streets and driveways: fresh snow for the spring time-change,  a minor pest that will probably be gone by the end of the day. The cat is horrified, but he's always up in arms about something.

Yesterday, from dawn till dusk, the neighborhood kids played outside in the pouring cold rain and sleet, shrieking and racing scooters down the little hill. By the end of the day they seemed to have used up most of their dry clothes and were sporting tight old coats and pajamas. From the outside it looked like classic kid life: private motives, invisible parents, and dead-serious hilarity. I'll be sad when this pack grows up.

Yesterday's class went well, I think. The conversations and new poem drafts were powerful, but, yes, there were tears, and, yes, thinking was painful. Plus, I'm still a bit under the weather, so I didn't feel as sharp and focused as usual, though I hope I was good enough. In the hours between the end of class and the evening reading, I lay on the couch and dozed and idled, and then I got into bed fairly quickly after the reading was over. And Tom took care of dinner and coddled me a little. So today I should be better.