Sunday morning, and I am wide awake at 5:30: coffee made, clean dishes put away, clean kitchen towels hung, cat ejected into the wet darkness. Apparently this is not a sleeping-in weekend as yesterday morning was just the same. But at least I got a ton of things done on Saturday, and maybe today is destined to be productive too. I wrote the syllabus for session 1 of my upcoming MWPA class on creating a series of poems. I wrote the syllabus for Wednesday's Monson class. I worked on poem drafts and put away the stacks of books cluttering my study and cleaned up my computer's desktop, which was a giant rubble pile of new poems. I read a big chunk of Tim O'Brien's novel July, July, and in the afternoon T and I went down to the wharf and bought a seafood bonanza: soft-shell crabs and Winterport oysters and fresh sardines and fresh cod. We ate the oysters and crabs last night, the sardines will be for tonight, and the cod went into the freezer for later in the week.

This morning I'll read Donne and work a bit on my essay, and then, if it's dry enough outside, Tom and I may organize our stuff in the new shed. We got lots of rain yesterday, just as we should in spring, and today will be sunny and breezy and chilly, just as it should be in spring, and I expect a general greening-up this week. Already hyacinths and scilla and crocuses are in bloom; daffodils are budding; I've been harvesting winter spinach and chives and garlic greens. Maybe I'll get laundry onto the outside lines. The homestead itch is strong, this time of year.