Today Tom is going to install the finished spice shelves, which means that I'll get to clean out and reorganize cabinets and pantry--a job I will enjoy. I crave tidy arrangements, folded towels, shining cups and bowls. I'm sure I'll also be heading outside for a walk, maybe even for a bike ride. The temperature is supposed to rise precipitously into the 50s, and then plummet into rain and ice tomorrow. Now or never, apparently.

Meanwhile, I'm still reading Villette. I also spent some time yesterday copying out the Inferno, poring over Pound's first canto, and puzzling over my extreme ignorance. The Cantos make me feel like the worst student in the class. I thought maybe this time around I'd figure out what's going on in them. Apparently I'm as stupid as ever.

Well, so be it.

I'll clean cabinets and tromp down the street and cling to my female novelists. As I wrote recently in a draft poem titled "Rules for the Direction of the Maid":

The speed of your broom should match
the dust of your corners.

The dust in my corners is mostly cat fur and wood ash and kitchen crumbs. My broom keeps busy.