Today is the day. The house is clean, the garden is tidy, and I stuck a list of "don't forgets" for T on the refrigerator. I stuffed all of my clothes into a suitcase, all of my books and papers into bags. Now I just need to cram everything into the clean and gassed-up car and head west into the mountains.

The forecast looks dreary, but that's no surprise. I've collected all kinds of footwear, two coats, even a pair of gloves, should the atmosphere get very dank. Likewise, I have summer skirts and sandals, should the weather suddenly turn humid and hot. Anything can happen in those hills.

I have stacks of poems, and stacks of books, and stacks of reminders about meals and bus schedules. I have a bag of games and Anna Karenina and a brand-new lap-desk machine and a playlist ranging from Otis Redding to Lizzo.

I likely won't be writing to you regularly, but we'll see . . . maybe I'll post in the afternoons now and then, or maybe the early mornings will turn out to be perfect for letters. Or I might not have wifi. Anything can happen in those hills.

If any of you are within driving distance, please do stop by for the readings: Tina Cane on Sunday, me on Monday, participants on Tuesday, and Teresa Carson on Wednesday--all free and open to the public, all at 7 p.m. in the Henry Holt Barn.

And wish us luck. After three years online, an in-person gathering feels momentous and emotional. There will be tears.