For whatever reason, I could not buckle down to desk work yesterday. It was like I'd forgotten how to write: the mere thought of taking notes on poems or putting together any kind of essay on them made me blink and itch. I could barely even open a novel; I don't know what was going on. Seasonal word allergy, I guess. So I gave in and threw all my energies into laundry and mowing and walking and talking and making a blueberry pie and roasting a chicken, in hopes of getting whatever this is out of my system.

Today, I hope, will be a fresh start. We've got rain in the forecast, and maybe that will settle me into sedentary pursuits. I've got a bit of editing to do first, and then I'll curl into my study chair and start working my way into faculty poems. Or at least this is what I imagine I'll be doing. It's entirely possible that my brain is still haywire. In which case I may be marching through puddles in my rain boots or doing jumping-jacks in the basement.