This was our view yesterday evening from the ferry dock on Chebeague Island. Just a few miles away the city waterfront bustles with lights and cars and restaurant goers and buskers and sorrowful lonely men on benches. Meanwhile the sun sets and the full moon tarries out of sight, waiting for its hour, when it will settle above the horizon, as round and golden as an apricot.

I was tired by the time we got home. After a night of little sleep, I'd labored all morning in the sun, wrestling with fencing and stakes to create (I hope) at least a few groundhog-free zones in my poor damaged garden. Now the raised beds are surrounded with netting, the okra and beans are fenced, and I've transplanted kale, lettuce, carrots, and herbs into some of the protected areas, leaving the rest to fend for themselves and/or distract the groundhogs. I've still got lots of vulnerable plants, but maybe I can save these few. The project took hours, and then I quickly cleaned myself up and we embarked on our afternoon outing: crowded boats, a lot of walking . . . ordinarily all fine and fun, but by late in the day my energy was flagging.

Fortunately all of that outdoorsiness led to a good night's sleep, and I'm glad to be sitting here idly with a purring Little Chuck, who has already created a giant mess in his litterbox this morning (perhaps in is the wrong word) and is now unrepentantly cozy on my lap.

Today will be quiet, I think. I need to go to the grocery store at some point, and probably I'll mess around with some yard and house things, but nothing as extravagant as yesterday's groundhog barricades. I've got a busy week ahead and I'll be teaching all next weekend, so I'm happy to have an unstructured today. Summer is slipping by . . .