Sun comes to the river

A little tired, I take it easy. I walk to the river. Frank, on the driveway passing, calls to me. He is off to work! He is meeting colleagues who are in town in person. First time he has left home to work since. . . February? February! Writing this tonight, I am very tired from a busy, productive day. One thing I did that I think was good: I stopped working on the Chilmark poem; put it away for the moment. Felt a blank. Then opened a file to a poem I haven’t worked on in a year, and found some obvious and meaningful revisions came easily. It’s a poem about visiting Patrice and Veronique in Ardeche. So, the phone call, yesterday, must have jarred my unconscious. And I wrote a poem from the letters, as well, to bring to my workshop tonight, and it was well received. One of those days when I am blinking tired, falling asleep at my keyboard. The sun will wake me early tomorrow, and I count on that.