Yesterday turned out to be such a lovely day. At first light T and I went out for a bike ride together, just up to the cemetery, but it was so quiet and pleasant to be out on the streets on a temperate Sunday morning. Afterward we went our separate ways for the morning . . . he, upstairs to work on photo stuff; me, hanging laundry, reading, working in the flowerbeds, making a blueberry-nectarine pie. Then, around 2, we drove into town to our favorite oyster place and enjoyed a variety dozen; ambled up Washington Avenue to the cheese shop and bought a Chabichou, a slice of Devon blue, and some local sourdough rye; kept ambling until we got to the Frites Shack, where we ordered a bowl of duck-gravy poutine; then sat down at a table at Oxbow Brewery, drank beers, split our poutine, and played a game of cribbage. We came home ready for a nap, and later had a fine snack of toast and cheese and salad and pie.

This is one of our favorite weekend-afternoon dissipations: oysters, cheese, poutine, and beer, all available on the same street, and a seven-minute drive from home. It's fun to be out and about among the other dissipators, everyone soaking up the last rays of summer. It's fun to be pals: taste-testing oysters, trying each other's beers, eyeing the crowd, bumping up against each other like friendly puppies.

But I'll need to buckle down today. I've got to get back to chore land because it's wood-moving time. I'll clear space in the basement and then start wheelbarrowing dry wood out of the shed, tossing it down the hatch, stacking it for winter burning. It's only a cord's worth, but moving it still takes more time than I think it should, and today will be warm.

Now, for a few more moments, I'm lingering over my coffee. The neighborhood jay is squawking. The cat reclines on the floorboards, washing his paws. Blotches of new sunlight pattern the dark-green maples. I let the first tasks of the day roll slowly through my mind . . . hang out the wash, broom-sweep the kitchen floor, refresh the cat water bowls, mow the backyard grass, slice up tomatoes, peppers, and onions, start simmering a pot of sauce . . .

Upstairs T clanks his coffee cup and sighs. The other day I told him that I've decided to never fight with him again. Not that we ever fight, much. "But why waste our time together?" I said. He didn't argue.