Well, it was a little cold at last night's game, but I have spent many seasons in lawn chairs alongside northcountry Farm Leaguers, so I know how to dress. And the Sea Dogs had a walk-off homer . . . the first I've ever seen in person! And then the walk home under the darkening sky was so pleasant--everywhere the fragrance of invisible lilacs, hedges brushing my hair, the bright windows of the houses, and the Congregational steeple rearing up like a sentry among the roofs.

Add in a good night's sleep, and then an annoying tussle with an explosive French press coffeepot this morning, and you will see that life is as imperfect as ever around here.

Today: back to my editing desk, and then a visit with a tree specialist (also a poet; we are everywhere) who is going to inoculate my ash tree against the invasive emerald ash borer. I just learned that this is possible, and my neighbors and I are eager to get it done, hoping to avoid having to cut down yet another tree between our properties.

After that, I am considering going shopping for an outside table so that we can eat in the yard this summer. I'm longing for a deck, but who knows when T will get a chance to make that happen? In the meantime, the backyard is getting ever more pleasant, and I want to enjoy it in the evenings too.

There's lots of weeding to be done, especially in the Hill Country, as the spring ephemerals fade away. There's lots of everything to be done . . . inside and out, desk and house, garden and mind.