Well, that was a real weekend: glorious weather for a canoe outing, a cookout, and so much gardening and reading. I didn't intend to spend most of yesterday outside, but one thing led to another and I harvested all of the arugula and spinach, planted succession crops of salad greens, carrots, fennel, cilantro, parsley, and dill; transplanted kohlrabi and various flower seedlings; moved some hostas and speedwell into the shade . . . 

It might be a tiny piece of property, but I can find a whole lot to do out there.

But now the beautiful weekend is over, and today I'll be back to my editing stack; back to my exercise schedule; back to errands and phone meetings and housework and that crazy-making stack of uncollected poems.

I've been reading a book about restaurants in the early 1900s, which is also an interesting disquisition on working-class versus elite lunch habits, the move of women into the workplace, the implementation of government food inspections, the grossness of the meatpacking industry, how unions dealt with the racist treatment of waiters, etc. But this week I'll need to turn my attention back to John Donne, I should find another novel to soak up, I want to get back to Walt Whitman . . . There's so much to learn. I will never keep up with it.