Hard to believe, but I think we're finally supposed to get a little bit of warmth and sun today. Already T is out and about with a camera, and when he gets back we may go out for breakfast and then for a walk at the bird sanctuary . . . or we may not. We did have a holiday-weekend meal last night--a fire in the fire pit, grilled bison medallions and marinated halloumi, twice-baked potatoes with the first red onion harvest, a salad with baby lettuce from the garden, a strawberry-cranberry-rhubarb pie--and only a little rain fell on us, so we felt lucky.

I devoted much of Saturday to obligations: groceries and laundry, weeding and mowing. I'll be home all of this week, but in New York with my younger son all of next week, so I've got a limited window for getting things into trim around here, if that's even possible after so much rain. And there's a ton of editing on my desk, too much Shelley homework to read, interlibrary-loan books for another reading project on the way, and T and I need to plan a trip to Chicago for late July so that we can hug our older boy and meet his fiancee's parents, which will be delightful . . . but ay yi yi: it's hard to picture myself with my head out of the chore bucket.

Well, I'm not complaining. I'm just a little overwhelmed, which is usual at this time of the year. The teaching conference is looming, and that is always a massive undertaking. I'm grateful to be employed, and immersed in poetry projects with friends, and hanging out with my sweetheart, and surrounded by flowers, and summoned affectionately by my children. Also my cat hasn't been re-kidnapped lately.

But spring is a breathless season, summer even more so.