Another cool morning, with rain on the way tonight and tomorrow, which is fine, because we actually could use a little rain . . . not something I thought I'd be saying a few weeks ago.

I spent much of yesterday working on my new editing project, but I did take a break in the afternoon to make a blueberry pie--from my own front-yard, city-grown blueberries--which pleased me greatly. So, for dinner, we ate bowls of red beans and quinoa, big fresh salads, and slabs of warm pie.

Today will be much the same, work-wise, though I'm hoping to get out to write tonight. I'd like to take a walk or go for a bike ride; I'd like to fidget over some poem revisions. I need to pick blueberries, and probably I ought to go grocery shopping.

I've been sending my new poetry collection out to bigger presses. This is not a task I enjoy at all, but I'm trying to persevere. It feels hopeless but I suppose something could happen. Anyway, I'll do it for a little while, until I suddenly can't bear it anymore. I reread the collection over the weekend, and I still think it's a reasonable approach to ordering poems. Which is to say, I like my own work, and that, at least, is something. If I don't care about my book, who will?