After a weirdly warm weekend, the temperature has dropped back down into the 20s. The furnace is rumbling, the coffee is hot, and I slept in my own bed so feel reasonably rested and ready for a week at work. Mostly, I'll be editing, with band practice and class planning and some appointments and meetings slipped in around the edges. But I won't be on the road again till Saturday, and that, at least, is something.

I've been reading Elizabeth Hardwick's Sleepless Nights. I've been motoring up and down the hills of Vermont. I've been standing at a window and staring out into the blue morning.

What is the word for the word you can't figure out how to say?

Fortunately, there is the embrace of coming home.