I woke to a cool and cloudy morning, with rain in the forecast for tonight, I'm pleased to report. 

Yesterday afternoon I snagged half an hour to cut back the rest of my lily and iris stalks. This afternoon maybe I'll get a chance to split and transplant a few hostas before the storm arrives. That depends on how swiftly I can plow through my house and desk chores. I did get next week's high school plans sussed out, and I'm making quick progress on the copyediting, so I'm hopeful.

My brain is slowly beginning to unclot itself. I am feeling lighter, less tangled, which is a surprise to me as tomorrow is the first anniversary of Ray's death, which I have been dreading. Last night we went out to listen to Jonathan Richman, who of course I first heard with Ray . . . those Modern Lovers songs, so plain, so naked with longing, unwinding themselves at midnight in the concrete cocoon of a dorm room.

But somehow, last night, I wasn't freighted with loss. I was just listening to a man in his seventies sing and play guitar, and I was happy to be witnessing how lively and full of curiosity such a man can be. I was happy to be reminded that life is for being alive. Here we are. So let's be here.