Another drizzly dawn after a night of downpour. Still, most of yesterday was sunny enough for me to dry sheets on the line, though I didn't have time to do much else outside, other than take a morning walk and pick vegetables for dinner. The new editing project swallowed my morning, housework swallowed the afternoon, and by late in the day I was at the stove hovering over the first sauce of the season. The tomatoes are coming in early and fast, and there is nothing lovelier in a pan than a clutch of Romas, a few bright peppers, a sliver of onion, and a pat of butter.

This morning I'll be back on my mat and back at my desk. With the weekly house chores behind me, maybe I'll have a chance to mow grass or move compost in the afternoon, if things ever dry out around here. 

I've been reading Babel Tower steadily, and I've been thinking hard about my friend's poetry manuscript, but I haven't written much myself for the past few days. That's fine--I've certainly met my quota of poems for the summer: I've been productive and I've been excited about being productive. Lately I've been feeling a lot of confidence, which may or may not be justified but is at least reassuring. It's restful not to be anxious (for the moment) about my worth.