Yesterday's little jaunt to western Maine was so, so lovely. Zanne and I drove out about an hour and half to Lucia's house, on the shore of a clear and quiet lake. We ate lunch looking out over the water, as the hummingbirds whizzed by and the loons wailed. And then we went swimming in water that was as warm and welcoming as a bath . . . no biting insects, no tangling weeds, just dragonflies and conversation and late-afternoon summer sun. It might have been the nicest swim I've ever taken, which means a lot coming from me, because I am fussy, incompetent, and uncomfortable swimmer.

So today I am feeling sweetened and refreshed. I've got a big new editing project on my desk, and a late-morning meeting with the Monson folks, and all of my usual house and garden demands, but now I can think about my swim too.

I need to spend time with Eliot's Four Quartets today, and I need to fiddle a bit with tomorrow's craft lecture. I'd like to watch the videos of the seminar readings, which I haven't been able to attend live. 

But for now I am sitting in the early-morning darkness, listening to the cicadas creak, listening to a plane take off, listening to an ambulance wail. The city awake.