It's 34 degrees this morning, just shy of a frost. I got a lot done in the garden yesterday, though not everything I'd hoped to accomplish. But the furniture is stowed, I cut up sticks and bagged them, and  I pruned the massive elderberry and bagged the trimmings. I also made good progress on cutting back perennials. I hope I can get more of that finished this week, as well as do some transplanting, but these jobs always take longer than I think they will.

The next few weeks are going to be hectic. I'll be teaching or traveling for three weekends in a row, plus embarking on my usual Monson jaunts. But at least I'll be sleeping in my own bed for the next seven days. This morning I'll go for my walk, and then I'll turn my thoughts to finishing the Baron essay. This week I've got a poetry manuscript to comment on and a small academic project to copyedit. I need to prep for my high schoolers and go over my long-poem syllabus and show up for some meetings. I've got to keep up with house chores and cook meals and, with luck, get back into the garden. Life feels kind of dizzying, but the great news is that I am not sick and my car isn't terrifying and my cupboards are full of ingredients.  Also, my kitten is no longer sad.

I still don't know when I'll be able to think seriously about my own poems. I keep writing them, tucking my drafts around the edges of obligation. I keep reading and reading. But there has been no space to plan a collection. Maybe once I finish the essay, I can hoard that space for myself. Life seems so eager to crowd me out.