I opened the windows this morning, though I will likely have to close them again before long. Still, it is a relief, even if fleeting, to listen to cardinals pewing and crows cawing and jays squawking and to feel real live air sifting through the screens instead of being boxed up with a/c roar and wind.

Gray first light. Quiet, except for bird clatter. Yesterday I finished working through my stack of poetry manuscripts, wrote out my responses, had a phone meeting with a man who wants to hire me to help him put together an essay manuscript, took Chuck to the vet, watered the garden, made chicken and rice and cucumber salad for dinner. Chuck was, of course, a star at the vet. There's nothing like a friendly lively kitten to make an entire staff of vet techs go soft and googly-eyed. He weighs just over four pounds, small for his age, and he's got some kind of gut issue that has yet to be diagnosed (results should be in today), but he's clearly sparkly and mischievous and he eats well, so once we get that worm or giardia or bacterial issue resolved, he should start gaining weight normally. The vet seems confident, so I will be too. The poor guy had a hard start. It's amazing how well he's doing now, given the conditions he was born into.

This morning I'll go out for my walk before the heat kicks in again, and then I'll turn to my own work: look at poems, maybe apply for a grant, maybe submit a few things, perhaps even consider whether I should start imagining a new collection. This afternoon Teresa and I are going to talk about Whitman, and I'm hoping I'll have to pick up Chuck's prescription, and then this evening I'll meet a friend for a Sea Dogs game. A summer day--poems and birds and baseball. And tomorrow, rain? What a gift that would be.