And here we are at Monday again. At least I feel as if I've more or less recovered from yesterday's time-change hangover--a good sign, given my long week ahead. This afternoon I'll head north for two teaching days, two overnights in strange beds, and I will need all of the oomph I can muster. The added day will include a long early-morning drive, anxiety about a new setting, five intense sessions with kids who may or may not want to be there, and then a long afternoon drive back to my digs. Even after so many years as a traveling poet, I get nervous about such things. But I will get through it; the day will be fine, even exciting; I'll look in the rear view and be pleased.

And I've also got an adventure to look forward to. Yesterday, as my older son and I confabbed about a good date for my next visit to Chicago, he casually asked, "Thought of taking the train one way?" I had not, but as soon as he mentioned the idea, I was starry-eyed. Last Thanksgiving he and his partner took the train home and had lots of fun. It is a long ride--22 hours--and I can't afford a sleeping car, much as I long to spend the night in one. But J says that the coach seats recline well and are very comfortable, and I adore trains. The fun of a Boston-to-Chicago run--reading and writing and looking out the window and people watching . . . I'm so excited, and the view of America in May will be a delight.

So this morning I will buy my ticket, and as I am packing for my teaching week, I will be imagining my little nest on the train, the chug of the wheels beneath me, the curve of the tracks, the long whistle, the cities ahead and behind, the open country, the backs of houses, the scrub along the rivers . . .