I made my first foray into the social whirl last night, with an evening among my poet friends. I was very glad to see them, though it was harder than I expected: my poor brain struggled to switch back and forth among conversation threads, and responding to prompts was also difficult . . . not unproductive, but tiring. Anyway, I did it, and then slept well last night, and am now feeling relatively peppy--ready to haul recycling to the curb and wash sheets and such.

All day yesterday the rain poured down. I think we got two inches, after another inch earlier in the week. It is a relief to see the drought begin to lift, even so late in the season, and I am hoping to walk out this morning in search of mushrooms.

In the meantime, I am sitting here with my cup of coffee and noticing that, finally, it doesn't taste terrible. Maybe my Covid-damaged taste buds are beginning to return to normal.

And just knowing that I have a couple of scrawls in my notebook is making me feel good. They're likely irredeemable as poems, but they're a new beginning, and that's worth a lot to me.