The rain is pouring and clattering and clanking in a new kind of way on the new A/C which took Tom all kinds of time to install because our windowsills are inimicable. The box does not say "Required tools include person who can renovate." Fortunately for me I had one, but this explains why my neighbor's machine is held up by a stick.

The day was productive, though, despite the air conditioner's recalcitrance. I washed windows and dusted, and also cultivated and weeded all of the front gardens. The Red Sox won, and I made red beans and rice for dinner, with fresh guacamole and lots of cilantro and garlic scapes and heaps of tender lettuce. Now rain is tumbling into the raked earth, and pea pods are swelling and peonies are swaying their heavy heads. It is a lovely dark wet morning for growing things.

Today I'll be back at my desk, editing, working on Frost Place tasks; also beginning my morning with poem revision, as I have decided that this is the most important item on my desk list today. Eventually I'll go to my exercise class and the grocery store, call my mother, clean floors, and such. For now, though, my thoughts are with rain and poems, rain and poems.