Yesterday morning was warm and glorious, yesterday evening was chill and dank, but hyacinths do not care about petty matters such as temperature swings, and here they are, opening their pale arms in the Library Bed.

Now, on my first morning as a bachelor (clearly I am not a bachelorette), the forecast calls for bluster and snow squalls, with highs barely out of the 20s. Ruckus and I are hoping to make the best of it. Today I've got some desk work to do, and spinster grocery shopping, and a few spring cleaning projects--forking out closets, hand-washing woolens, and such. But mostly I have a day without obligation.

Tom called last night from Monson, where he was pinning up photos in his studio. He sounded like I feel: puzzled about how to fill his swaths of time, but simultaneously anxious about wasting even one moment. It's an interesting conundrum. I am not used to taking care of no one but myself. Tom is not used to taking care of no one, not even himself. And now he has two weeks to figure out how to do that.

Still, I enjoyed getting up on my own alarm-free schedule. I am enjoying this pot of coffee. I am enjoying not rushing to gather T's work clothes for the washing machine, not scrubbing his breakfast dishes. I don't have anything better to do, and I am enjoying the slowness. There's no hurry. The day is before me. I hope he is feeling the same.

It's not like I've done nothing since he left. I did zoom-teach all afternoon yesterday, and that went well, I think. Tomorrow afternoon I'll be working with my high school poet. On Thursday and Friday I'll be traveling up north to teach more high schoolers. On Saturday I'll host a small dinner party for some poets. On Sunday I'll be zoom-teaching again. Clearly I'm not on vacation. But the edges are free. And the edges feel significant.