Summer eventually. I'd either like to take a break here or make some movies & photographs.
I'll go to Maine again. For a too-short week. But not until August. A good deal of the pleasure is the long anticipatory time beforehand.
In June, I teach a little mini re: Major Jackson's Hoops. (The program website has it wrong. Jenny's taking Honor Moore.)
And in a few weeks, DC to read/see Maureen & Jeff. Whee!
First though I clean and scrub and vacuum and arrange, primping the house. The Mom comes next week for her holiday. We'll be touring landscape. The farm may have early strawberries they said, though maybe there's not been enough sun the last several days. The little sis comes too.
The front flowerbed offers fuchsias (oh that word) and the boxes even more violas now. And the side garden promises tall ornametal grasses, spiky lupine, furry mounds of sweet william (they're back), two more clusters of violas, and various greenery. The thuggish pachysandra makes its move in the back.
And there are more poems coming. Pitiless calendar. I say when's enough.
And what is this, pneumonia? This linger-whammy. Fake out after fake out.
But books in the mail yesterday, including 6 Faux chaps & 3 Action books. So I'll be reading eagerly, even if the notes don't materialize. Poor reactions, sometimes such paperthin things, a little motheaten at birth, invalids made weak by the raging word virus.
What we get for typing on Benadryl, sure.