The little northern city by the sea is wrapped in fog, and the air is cool and densely humid: briny and wet; a cocoon of cloud; birds singing like mad and the garden glowing green under the pale ocean mist.

Island weather. A delight.

Yesterday, between minor rain showers, I hobbled through lawn mowing and trimming, weeding and planting. My toe is certainly not broken, but it is ugly and sore, and it was slowing me down. Still, I got a lot done: okra and sunflowers sowed; tulips cut down so that a new crop of flowers--speedwell, phlox, columbine, lilacs, iris--can billow into center stage. I always feel sad about cutting down flowers, but am always at how quickly my eye readjusts to the new glories.

Today I'll go back to desk work (a new editing project, class prep for tomorrow), plus grocery shopping and housecleaning and the rest of my usual Monday obligations. Yesterday a journal accepted all three poems I sent them, so that was a good reminder to stop procrastinating with the submissions . . .