Woke up to another indictment. I'm starting to lose count of them. But I will say, given the damage he's inflicted on this country, it's a cozy feeling to know that he'll spend the rest of his life tied into knots by the legal system. I remember saying, early on in this debacle, that only the law would save us. I'm not particularly prescient, as a rule; nor do I know much about the law. But it sure is heartening to watch justice at work.

And now, after a night not spent wildly defaming people on social media, I sit calmly with my cup of coffee, thinking about Rilke and Donne and my various to-do items: editing, foraging, blueberry picking, laundry, a bathroom scrubbing project, reading, making dinner. Even with that bathroom scrubbing project, my life is so, so so much happier than DJT's.

* * *

I think we're supposed to get some rain today, but I hope to get out for a mushroom walk early, before the steady downpours begin. The editing project is moving along quickly, so I'll probably slow down a bit and work on the Rilke syllabus, spend some time with a friend's poem-in-progress, and investigate a couple of my own drafts. Teresa's been busy organizing, and it looks like our new poem-group invitees are coming together eagerly. We've taken to calling the gathering a lab or a test kitchen, as a way to differentiate it from a workshop. I'm quite excited about it.

And what else is happening around here? I don't know . . . not much newsworthy, I guess. Cherry tomatoes are ripening quickly. Boys are confabbing about a possible family adventure in the Pacific Northwest next summer. I'm wearing a pretty summer dress every day because autumn is in the wings and soon I'll be in sweaters again. The Leopard is still an intensely sad and beautiful novel, even after a dozen rereadings. The little northern city by the sea is bustling and provincial and sunny and shady, and its wharfs are rich with freshly caught fish. Last night I made paupiettes: local flounder fillets rolled around a stuffing of breadcrumbs, butter, parsley, and kale, then steamed in soufflé molds in a bain-marie. The process was a bit French and fussy, but the result was sweet and delicate.

Here's hoping you have a chance to stand outside on your front stoop today, and watch a bird or two, a passerby, a flicker of light or rain.