I woke up this morning to the excellent news that the Blue Jays knocked superhuman pitcher Shohei Ohtani out of the game in the sixth inning, winning the contest despite an injury to one of their best hitters in the previous day's eighteen-inning grind. Ah, baseball. You are such a romance.

Now Little Chuck has had his breakfast, Tom and I have had our coffee, and I am sitting here in my couch corner contemplating the day ahead. I had a good night's sleep, and I'm feel vastly lightened, now that I've finished that essay. I turned in my first CavanKerry assignment as well, so I'm altogether less overwhelmed than I was. Today I've got to work on high school plans and return to my academic copyediting project, but later I might actually have a chance to work in the garden, or even look at my own poems. And tonight T and I are going out to a Jonathan Richman show, so altogether the day will have a novel flavor.

Yesterday Teresa and Jeannie and I talked about moving forward with the Substack journal we've been planning but have thus far not executed. For all three of us Baron's death has been a blow, not least because he was the person who brought us together in the first place. We've been churning in a sort of group maelstrom over it, none of us able to make much progress with other work. So it was a relief to discover we were able to compile a few sensible plans about moving forward with the journal.

Sunshine today.