Frigid weather is settling in over the little northern city by the sea. And so is ICE. Two schools in my neighborhood briefly locked down yesterday after administrators learned that agents had been sighted at a local gas station. Tribal governors, mayors, school and church leaders: everyone is anxious. Maine, it seems, is next on the punishment list.

Meanwhile, the temperature is 9 degrees, forecast to drop below zero by the weekend. The new furnace heaves and grumbles, and Chuck peers with interest into the registers, his whiskers trembling in a hot wind. I have finished rereading Pale Fire and have almost finished Idyls (what a heartbreaking ending; this is the saddest of poems). I'll start Sei Shonagon's Pillow Book today, find another novel to read, get back to the editing pile, prep for my high schoolers, get onto my mat. Take a walk. Which now also requires: Watch out for my neighbors. Keep my phone at the ready. Record evil.