I slept beautifully last night, dreaming of "a lot of actors, a palace, intrigue, interesting clouds, odd paint colors, fancy floors, big dresses." At least that what's I wrote in my dream book, though I can't recall the melodrama or who those actors were. Now, at this late hour of 6:30, I am ensconced in my couch corner with my cup of black coffee, feeling rested and refreshed, despite my disappointment at having no memory of the palace intrigue or the big dresses.

Tomorrow morning you won't hear from me as I'll have already been on the road for an hour, heading north for my teaching day in Monson. I could have gone up after this afternoon's chapbook class, but that seemed hard too, given how tired my eyes get after Zoom sessions. So the weather report and I opted for the marathon day.

Today is supposed to be lovely: sunny, in the 50s; and after two days of rain, spring should explode. This morning I'll hang clothes on the line, run out to the grocery store, and maybe go for a walk or putter a bit in the garden, if the soil dries out. Then after lunch I'll retreat to my room and teach my zoom class . . . with a working computer screen and a functional zoom link--a welcome respite from last Sunday's craziness.

I did get the housework done yesterday, and the bread baked, and then Tom and I went out for poutine and beer, and then I listened to the Red Sox lose to the Yankees. (Paul was at that game and was undoubtedly crabby.) Otherwise, I've been reading Le Carre's A Perfect Spy, playing cards, letting my tensions ebb, getting myself into a travel state of mind. It feels strange to be leaving home just as planting season begins. Then again, I always plant too early. So maybe I should always leave.