Well, here I am, finally: ensconced in ye olde couch corner, wrapped in my dopy red bathrobe, my cup-and-saucer of black coffee at the ready, cheerful Big Kitten peering out the window at sparrows, T upstairs clanking his cup down onto his saucer, then burrowing back under the covers. Home and its pedestrian delights . . . all three of us are very glad to be enjoying this Saturday morning love song.

The transition from Sarasota to this moment was a little rocky. We got home so late on Wednesday, then had to rip ourselves out of bed so early on Thursday, both of us rushing off to our individual versions of work. And then I barely slept in Bangor--too keyed up about too many things, but mainly the adrenaline of performance. I think the Poetry Night event went well: the teachers were very responsive to the prompts and conversation, and then I had the pleasure of dinner out with a pack of Monson Arts friends. But my body was jangled from travel and strange hours and on-stage nerves and missed meals. Also, I hadn't actually been alone for a week; and though I am sociable, I thrive best on regular doses of solitude. So I was kind of a mess.

But in retrospect, this was an unprecedented experience: to spend a week working so closely with such incredible friends and artists; to be with Tom the whole time, instead having to leave him; to then bring that energy with me back to my workaday world of Maine teachers and schools and young people and poems. I'm so grateful to the people of Sarasota who funded us, to Teresa for making it happen, and to the English teachers of Maine who welcomed me back into the fold.

I am also grateful for a weekend at home. I'll be grocery-shopping and doing housework and catching up on desk business and prepping for class and such. And I hope to walk and loll and finish the Elizabeth Bowen novel I've been trying to read for days. And Chuck will require plenty of Chuck time: he is overflowing with family joy.

 Good morning-- All's well, but I had a wacky sleeping schedule in Bangor: awake too late and then made up for it by sleeping too late. Heading back to Portland soon. Talk to you tomorrow--

Our flight was late leaving Sarasota yesterday evening, and by the time we finally arrived in Baltimore, our next flight was boarding, but eventually we got into Portland well after 11 p.m., then had to wait forever at baggage claim, and then thank god our neighbor generously picked us up and brought us home, where we quickly ate something (no dinner earlier other than airplane pretzels), then fell asleep hard, and by 6:30 a.m. T was out the door to work and here I am, befuddled and unable to end this sentence, trying to envision driving to Bangor in a couple of hours and putting on a performance . . . so, in other words, I'll talk to you tomorrow--

Yesterday we worked a half day, and after lunch we northerners were escorted to the Ringling Museum--really a complex of museums and performance venues that includes circus displays, art collections, a park, and John Ringling's Venetian-style palazzo jutting into Sarasota Bay.

It's March but already the Florida rose gardens are in bloom, and big birds stand around dozily in the sunshine, indifferent to the people who bustle past.

This evening three of us fly back to Portland (Gretch is staying for a few more days of work on another project), and then tomorrow I'll be on the road to Bangor . . . a wholly different landscape and setting, but still the link of poems and performance. Yesterday's coolish temperatures were a reminder of that shift, yet the place somehow encourages forgetfulness.

We stood on the terrace behind Ringling's mansion, where yachts used to sail in for parties in the 1920s. A steady wind blew in from the gulf, and the sea shimmered romantically, though the steps down to the water were a wreck of rubble from Hurricane Milton.

"The sunsets are famous here." I've overheard more than one person make some version of this comment. And indeed they are beautiful. But maybe I am too attuned to elegy.

Yesterday was performance day, so we started off slowly, with a walk and then an hour in the pool, before heading to the studio midday so our dancer could start her warm-up process.

All four of us pallid northerners have become quite attached to the pool. This is most surprising in my case as I can barely swim. But an outdoor heated pool is such a pleasure--both restful and scintillating for the body; sociable yet, as soon as I lean back to float, deliciously alone.

This project will ultimately have three parts--Slate, Mountain, Lake. For yesterday's event we were only performing Slate, but Lake and Mountain have also been part of our workdays. Each has come together in an entirely individual form, moving urgently into place as we've read over the materials together. It's been such an intense experience to feel this happening as a unit of four artists.

Teresa had invited about twenty-five people to what she was calling an open rehearsal of Slate. So though we were not under pressure to have a burnished final product, we did feel we were putting on a real performance. It began with poetry, then a dance with music, then a step back to talk about how the dance had been made from the individual words of the first poem. Then we moved into found pieces from high school yearbooks, mixed with movement and more original poems, an erasure piece from an obituary, and finally a closing dance involving all four of us.

I will have photos to post soon as Tom has been documenting the project steadily, and Teresa's husband John made a full video of the performance which may also be available at some point.

But the audience reaction was hugely gratifying. They had not known what to expect, and they responded whole-heartedly to the piece. They talked a lot about their feelings and reactions afterward, even asked if we could come back to Sarasota so they could see all three sections in their final forms. Maybe that will happen, maybe it won't, but the point is that they were excited and they wanted more.

Not everything can go perfectly in Florida. We got through two innings of the Orioles-Yankees game, and then the heavens let loose and an extremely inept grounds crew rushed onto the field in bare feet and struggled to drag the tarp over the infield. But it got stuck on something, so eventually they gave up and left third base to its fate. Throughout the downpour they scurried onto the exposed base paths dumping bags of drying agent around the sodden base so the place looked like a sandbox covered in anthills. We, fortunately, were sitting under an overhang within direct sight of the shenanigans at third base, so a good time was had by all. These were not major league grounds people. Definitely they are vying for a spot on the roster and I daresay most will get cut.

Eventually it became that clear the game was not likely to continue, so we admitted defeat and went out for Indian food instead. And then back in the apartment we sat around for a while and watched lightning flash over the keys. Probably I will never see another spring training game but for two innings the Orioles were far superior to the lackluster Yankees, and you don't see grounds crew comedy every day. I'd call it a win.

Today is our performance day. For reasons involving our dancer's prep needs and timing, we aren't going to the studio till noon, and then we'll work all afternoon until people start arriving at 4. Our staged rehearsal will run for 25 minutes, and then there will be a talk-back and mingling, and sometime this evening I'll get back to the apartment and then will immediately have to phone my son so we can do our NCAA brackets together.

But this morning will be quiet. As usual, wherever I go, I'm the first person up. But soon Tom will head out to take photos, and G and G and I will go out for walk by the water, and maybe later I'll even get a chance to sit around and read a little. That would be a novelty.

Yesterday, after work, we drove to the beach on Lido Key, and here we are, standing in water the color of sea glass, being happy together.

This has been a lovely trip, and the exotic surroundings are only part of the fun. For both of us working and hanging out with four other really smart, inventive, collaborative people who are also sweet and entertaining and non-fussy and hardworking has been fantastic.

Yesterday morning, before work, some of us went to the farmers' market and bought fresh berries and vegetables. So after the beach the four northerners made dinner in the apartment for the six of us. How dinner got made was more or less how the entire work day has gone--nobody was in charge but somehow people wandered in and out of the kitchen and produced a meal together.

Collaboration is magical.