I let the cat out this morning into deep fog--streetlights like blurred candles, invisible crickets pulsing in the garden, the brown dark draped in dense wet cloud.

I slept hard last night, and the night was full of dreams, and morning arrived so quickly. I keep checking the clock to see if I've made a mistake about getting up, if it's really 3 a.m. But no.

Yesterday was busy--mostly desk work, and then my Calendar proof arrived, and then I rushed out to the grocery store and rushed back thinking I could get the house cleaned too. But the phone kept ringing, and I ran out of time. So the housework will wait until today.

Still, I got stuff done yesterday. I'm now nearly finished with the editing project, which means I should also have time to correct the Calendar proof before I leave for NYC--two tasks that I wasn't sure I could accomplish this week.

Outside the Carolina wren interrupts the crickets--tea kettle, tea kettle, tea kettle. Against the fog, the big maples are intricate silhouettes, and the air smells like the sea.

This morning I'll go out for a walk, hoping to find mushrooms after last night's rain. This morning I'll clean house, deal with the sheets and towels, put things to rights. This morning I'll stand at my desk and finish editing a chapter, maybe even finish editing the entire book.

All weekend my mind was jangled, but I'm back on keel now. A course has been charted. The sea spray rises around me.