I woke, this morning, in my own bed, after the first real sleep I've had in a week. It is very foggy here in the little northern city by the sea, and summer seems to have arrived while I was away. As in New Hampshire, it rained all week, but the nights were warm, and so everything--from the dogwood tree across the fence to my young tomato plants--has exploded into confident beauty.

The week at the Frost Place was, as always, magical, elegiac, chaotic, tearful, giggly, damp, intelligent, silly, heartbreaking--which is to say, I'm wordless, even though I spent day after day immersed in words. Being back in person after three years of zoom was such an immense relief, despite the numerous discomforts I knew would arise in an already rough-edged place that had been closed down for three years. Being surrounded by people who are so vulnerable to words has filled me and exhausted me, in the best ways. But I'll need a day or two to find my tongue again.

Today my plan is to ease back into the quotidian world . . . restart my exercise regimen, wash some clothes, step out into the garden, take as many naps as I need . . . For now, I am so happy to sit in my couch corner, to carry a cup of coffee to Tom, to listen to the gull squawking above the fog. I feel loved, by the friends I left, by the friend I came home to. I feel like I am sitting in a small cloud of that love.