I spent nearly all of Easter outside in the windy garden--tearing out a sick rhododendron and then transplanting shrubs (two elderberries and a blueberry) and perennials (iris, yarrow, gladioli, a clematis). I rearranged trellises and the birdbath in the backyard, weeded out maple seedlings, did a lot of watering and hole digging. Above me stretched a bright blue sky, and the maples lashed in the wind.

And now it's Monday again. I won't be teaching in Monson this week because of school vacation, but the days still feel breathless. This morning I've got to get the car into the shop, and then I'll retreat to my desk and burrow into the stack of editing. If the car comes home in time, I'll grocery shop and maybe run out to the plant nursery to investigate shrubs. At some point I'll need to plan for my last day with the kids next week. I'll need to prep for the Plunkett Poetry Festival on Saturday, which will require me to don a weighty mix of student, presenter, and socializer hats: first, taking a workshop with Natalie Diaz; then doing a presentation with Betsy Sholl; then listening to Natalie's reading; then going out to dinner with Natalie, Betsy, and a few university staff. I'm a little overwhelmed just thinking about it.

Probably I've got a stack of other things to do between now and then, but I haven't opened my calendar yet, so for the moment I can pretend there's some airspace for digging, writing, dreaming.