Already the rain has begun pattering. Here in Portland it will rain all day, and then snow a bit, and the wind will begin to blow, and let us hope that the zoom connection does not fizzle during class.

Yesterday I cleaned bathrooms and vacuumed and mopped, then went outside and cleared a few more garden beds, trimmed last year's deadwood out of sage and thyme and chives and sorrel, prepped the garden boxes for planting, greeted various passersby, admired the new green shoots of garlic and daffodils. Now, today, I will sit back in my teaching chair and let the rain and the snow do their work.

I'm still a tad under the weather, but coping. I have plenty of energy, as long as I can keep my sinuses in check and manage my weary twitching eyes. But oddly, while I've been sick this week, the poetry faucet has been running full bore: invitation to teach two new high school sessions at Monson Arts; invitation to submit new work to an anthology; invitation to teach here in Portland . . . I feel a bit like a beetle on my back, feebly waving my legs in the air. Eh eh ok I guess I can.