This morning I'm wrapped in my fleece bathrobe. All of the downstairs windows are still closed, and the air outside is chilly. This has been typical of the coastal Maine summer so far--warmish days, cool nights. But supposedly a heat wave is looming, and today will be the day of the big weather change. It's hard to imagine, but then temperature changes are always hard to imagine. Bodies are so present tense.

Well, I'm ready. The garden is watered. The air conditioner is in. The ice tea is made. The cold dinner is planned--chicken salad, summer rolls, homemade ice cream.

This morning an arborist is stopping by to consult about our tree situation, and then I'll have the day to myself. I'll work on my friend's collection, and I'll work on my own poems, and I'll do a bit more spring cleaning in the kitchen . . . such a slow boring job as I have to wash and wipe down every dish and box and bottle--the curse of living with open shelves. I hope to go for a walk this morning, before the heat kicks in and if my ankle agrees. I'll finish the Capote novel and I'll read about Queen Victoria's early life. Late in the day I'll water the garden again.

Such a pokey life I've been leading lately, such a change from the bustle of the school year. Next week the teaching hubbub will start again, but this temporary slowdown has been a refreshment. I haven't gotten a ton done on my own writing, but I have accomplished a few things. Mostly I've been reacquainting myself  with the boundaries of my territory. Marking fence lines. Traveling the space inside.