Thanks to an editing tangle, my deskwork responsibilities have swelled from manageable to hair-raising. I'm juggling two other projects, plus class planning, plus book-launch planning, plus this particular mess, and my eyes feel like they're popping out of my head.

So it was a relief to spend an afternoon hour stacking wood in the modest autumn sunshine, occasionally chatting with passersby, most of whom want to marvel over the magnificent, four-foot-high eggplant in the front bed. Talk about curb appeal! That plant has everything: a plethora of glossy little fruits, broad spreading leaves, stems as sturdy as a small tree's . . .  hands' down, the eggplant wins this year's garden Oscar.

But even though the eggplant is still going strong, the tomato vines are winding down, so I picked a bushel of greens and brought them into the house to redden here. The Romas and cherry tomatoes are small enough to keep ripening outside (at least for the moment), but the big boys are done. This weekend I'll cut down the vines and put away the stakes and say another small farewell to summer.

Today will be sort of like yesterday: a snarl of deskwork, followed by some therapeutic wood stacking, but then I'll walk over to the drugstore and get my flu and Covid shots, and later T and I will go out to a screening of Our Man in Havana. Maybe my car will be released from the hospital today. Maybe I'll listen to some playoff baseball. Maybe I'll do a little writing. It seems unlikely, but one can hope.