We may or may not have rain today, but the air is heavy and the light is slow. Down at the wharf, the island barge is beeping and clanking. From the kitchen, Tom calls, "Ruckus!" and the cat gallops off to see what's what. I am nearly finished with the last of my trilogy of Alcott novels, Jo's Boys, and wondering what to read next.

I've been thinking this week about generations, of course. This was my first visit to one of my sons in a home he had made: not just a decorated dorm room but a living space arranged with another loved human being. And there was something so moving in that . . . in watching my son be a good man, a caretaker, a partner. It was yet another miracle, among the so many surprising miracles of life that I have never imagined.

Today I hope to find a small space for writing something that belongs to me.