Another cool morning, though we haven't had a frost yet. Still, by late afternoon it feels good to set match to paper and feel the first flames of warmth lick up from the kindling.

The next couple of days will be busy. I hope to finish my editing project this morning. And Thursday is my usual housework day--bathrooms and floors and general tidying. Today and tomorrow I've got to start pulling myself together for our trip to the island on Saturday. Poor Little Chuck has to go to the cat kennel tomorrow, and I'm sorrowful about dropping him off in a strange place. But he is too young to stay alone in the house and has too many gut issues for a long car ride.

Tonight I'll go out to write; tomorrow I'll do the grocery shopping for the cottage and attempt some sort of reasonable packing strategy. We will be on the island for a few days, then in Monson overnight so that I can teach the next day, then home that afternoon. So I'll have to pack camp clothes and school clothes, books for the cottage and books for work. Clearly I won't be traveling light.

But for the moment I am allowing myself to be quiet. The clock ticks. The refrigerator hums. The books on the table whisper among themselves. The walls of this house are a fragile shell. Above the roof, the universe lofts its uneasy weight.