I got home yesterday afternoon after an excellent first day of school: kids very chattery and engaged, already willing to share their work, even though they hardly know each other yet . . . a really good sign.

In the meantime, the rest of my week has upended: my sister has Covid, so no Vermont family will be arriving on Friday.

That takes the wind out of my planning, but oh well. Today I'll go for a walk, then catch up on desk things and meet with Teresa and Jeannie for our monthly Poetry Lab zoom. Tonight T and I are going out to see Sunset Boulevard. I'm expecting a new editing project to show up, and as always I've got classwork to do. So the days will fill up, even without weekend guests to worry over.

Last night I lit the first wood fire of the season, just a little one, using bits of pieces of junk wood, not real long-burning logs. It was a perfect level of warm--a visual more than physical pleasure, taking the edge off the chill even as the upstairs windows were still wide open.

So, two weeks at home before I hit the road again. This weekend T will start cutting out the new kitchen-cupboard doors. I'll make sauce and tear out a few more weary plants and flowers. Next week a load of green firewood arrives, my car goes into the body shop . . . the days fill and empty, burnished by the sweet melancholy of autumn, and robins perch in the elderberry bush, gorging on crimson berries.