The house windows were open all night, and I woke to robin song--trill, burble, and question; trill, burble, and question; again and again and again.

It is a warm and humid dawn. I suppose we will have to lug the a/c out of the basement this weekend, though I so much prefer real air. But already the upstairs is muggy, and true hot weather hasn't even kicked in yet.

Thank goodness I went out to write last night. It felt really good to be with the poets, after my two-week absence, and now my notebook is peppered with useful scratchings and, just like that, my poem-making itch has returned.

I am full of eagerness.