This storm is dire.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of wind and rain; woke up again at 5 a.m. to an intense gale . . . lashing rain, a roar like a freight train. We have been forecast to get up to 70 mph gusts, and I believe it.

The big worries are these massive Norway maples. The one closest to the house, between our driveway and the neighbors', is in rough shape and is scheduled to be cut down in early January. I know my neighbors are inside their house, gritting their teeth, hoping that it will hold itself together till then. I know that's what I'm doing inside my house.

But so far we still have power, and thus a furnace and coffee. And I am not driving to Vermont today, thank goodness. With this wind I'm not sure it would even be possible.

Another good thing: Tom is on vacation, so he won't have to try to drive to work in this mess. We can hunker down and worry about the maples together. My plan is to do zero editing today. I'll sit in my blue study chair and finish copying poems into another handmade book, one I finished yesterday . . . a sheaf of seven recent pieces, under the title Enchanted Forest. Perhaps the sound of storm in the trees will be an appropriate soundtrack.