Sunday was not as sunny as I'd hoped, but still it was dry, so I was outside in it, pruning roses and planting peas. Crocuses and scylla are ready to burst into bloom at the first touch of sunlight, and maybe that will be today. I am eager for flowers.

This morning I'll start by editing a new project and then switch to running errands because Tom will have my car tomorrow while his truck is in the shop. He's working on a job site near Biddeford this week, so we are on a new regimen of getting up at 5 a.m., which makes everything topsy-turvy. But after Sunday, when he leaves for his Monson residency, I'll have no alarm clock for two weeks. That will be very strange.

I'm supposed to be teaching up north myself on Friday, so will drive to Wellington on Thursday for an overnight with friends. Mud season, I hear, is terrible this year, and their gravel road is impassible for low-slung little vehicles such as my own. I'll have to be fetched from the top of the hill. But Tom's residency project is "mud season in central Maine," so he is extremely pleased.

This evening I'll be out with poets, workshopping poems. I've been out with poets so much lately. Who knew that writing hard could also be a social life? 

Oh, by the way: if you'd like to read a few poems from the new collection, here's a digital preview.