I slept badly last night, mostly because my brain wouldn't stop frantically listing all of the yard chores I needed to get done today. So when I woke up to rain this morning, and then discovered that it's supposed to rain all day long, even I, lover of weather, became sour. Yesterday, it was not forecast to rain at all, but it rained for most of the day. Today, it was not forecast to rain much, and now apparently it is. My peas have a fungus, my lavender is rotting, my tomatoes aren't setting fruit . . . the endless rain is steadily destroying crops, and it's depressing. On the bright side, the shrubs all look extremely happy, and the grass won't stop growing. But how can any farmer dry hay?

Well, all of my night anxieties were for naught, as it looks as if I'll be doing nothing in the garden once again. I'm still waiting for the next editing project to arrive, so the day is pretty open, without yard chores to anchor me. I spent much of yesterday trying to solve a transition issue in a poem, and maybe I'll keep wrestling with that today, or maybe I actually managed to figure it out. I need to undergo my exercise regiment and then grocery-shop, and I'll finish reading Anna Karenina, and I've got a phone meeting in the afternoon. I won't be idle. But this perpetual rain is both tiring and tiresome. It's hard to stay cheery when I'm watching my plants yellow and die.