Well, I did not win; nor did Maureen: it was the third person we don't know . . . but how sweet to have our little club of supporters there. I am so grateful for friends.

* * *

Friday morning in mid-May. A cardinal is singing. The lilacs are brilliant. The furnace is running. That's the tale of Maine.

Still, I might buy tomato plants today. The forecast isn't sultry, but the nights do look warmish, which is always the important point for summer-season seedlings. And we've got rain coming in tomorrow, so the timing is right.

Otherwise: A meeting this morning, editing, some class prep, a bike ride. Sheets on the line. Grocery shopping. Revising an essay, beginning to print out poems for the new collection. Maybe getting the violin out of the case.

I'm feeling vaguely blue (competition hangover: it will wear off), but mostly pretty content. Right now my environs are stunningly lovely . . . draped in spring colors, the massive trees leafing out, every window-view a poem. On a walk with my neighbor yesterday we agreed that we lucked out when we ended up here. I think it's the nicest neighborhood in the city . . . so close to downtown, yet remaining its own leafy walkable village, with its old genteel houses and its church spires and children playing ball in the street. The Alcott House may be the shabbiest on the block, but the irises are blooming and the peavines are climbing, and I live here, so I might as well be happy.