Well, I did manage to keep Mr. R inside all of yesterday. He spent the entire day pacing and staring at me, periodically clawing furniture, refusing to rest until after dark. And then this morning he was a jumping bean. So I looked closely at the wound, which seems to be healing well, and then I gritted my teeth and let him out. If that was the wrong choice, it's on me. But I think he will sit on the stoop, take a small stroll across the street, then come in for his morning nap. And in the end, that will be more restful and convalescent than a day spent pacing and glowering.

But what do I know? It could be a disaster.

This afternoon I'll be reading with Gary Lawless at the Cary Memorial Library, in Wayne, Maine, at 3 p.m. That's about an hour northwest of here . . . a bit of a drive, but it shouldn't be exhausting, as long as I can get home before dark. Maybe I'll see you there?

[ . . . and, hey, look! The cat is already yowling to come back in. My instinct was correct.]

Yesterday Tom hauled his construction trash pile to the dump, and I mowed grass, so the yard is looking somewhat okay again. I harvested the second crop of carrots and tore out the cucumber, picking off all of the tiny immature fruits to make fresh gherkins.

I think T will be back to the shed siding today. I'll have a few hours at home this morning, so my plan is to process parsley and celery for the freezer, clean bathrooms, wash towels. 

Outside, the wind is swirling in the darkness. The temperature is coolish, 50 degrees, but the gusts have a tender, southwesterly lift. I suppose they're hurricane remnants, reduced to kissing now that their fury has blown out. 

Early October in Maine is a most beautiful season--autumn creeping forward, summer holding out her arms. Each meal is a final savor: the last tiny summer squash, plucked from a fading vine, split and grilled in garlic oil; rusty marigold petals scattered over green tomato sauce; freshly pulled carrots julienned in rice vinegar, salt, and toasted mustard seeds; the last pepper, seeded and chopped; the last green beans, spilling out of a bowl.