I finished up the last bits and pieces of two editing projects yesterday, and thus I am slowly, steadily shifting my gears into a one-track conference state of mind. Today will be print-out-paperwork-and-organize-my-Zoom-workspace day, in preparation for tomorrow's faculty meeting and the ensuing onslaught of materials that I'll need to post and disseminate. But I'm also hoping to catch up on some reading: I've got several poetry collections by friends, all of which arrived when I was in my Vermont emergency mode and which I have yet to open. I need to rectify that rudeness, now that I've returned to my life.

It will be another chilly day in Portland. I wore a sweater for most of yesterday, and I daresay I'll do the same today. But the weather is pleasant too. I ate a bowl of fish chowder for lunch, sitting al fresco  in a bright spot in the Lane, reading a sad novel and listening to a mockingbird sing. The warm soup and the warm sun, the roses and the singing bird and the melancholy tale and the cool shadows . . .