Today I begin the crazy-busy part of my week, but at least it will be punctuated by walks with friends--first, an early-morning one with a Portland pal; then, mid-afternoon, another with a Harmony pal--before I trundle into Monson for the night.

The weather has been a delight--soft days and cooler nights; the sweet dreaminess of early October, landscape pocked with poets and lovers kicking up the first leaves underfoot as the blue skies sigh.

Here at the Alcott House, I hang clothes in a dark dawn. I eat my lunch outside in the sunshine. Late afternoons I harvest greens and herbs and watch the neighbors toss a football in the street. But in Monson I'll have no such pastimes . . . just the lake to moon over, just the reddened trees and a notebook of wanderings. And then, tomorrow, work.

I need to re-learn these sudden switches, how to sleep in strange beds and fill strange hours. This evening I plan to read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner all the way through before I fall asleep. I wonder where it will lead me.