Without too much difficulty, I wake early. It’s not much cooler. My husband is up, sitting on the deck, my daughter too, and the dogs. There is fresh dew on the grass and I am eager to change pace. I ride my bike to my friend’s dock, the first time on it this summer, and I take the longer way, not that far, but I circle the lake before getting to the dock. We are three on the dock this morning; another friend has joined us, and we stretch together. There are low clouds, no wind. Rain is coming. Light rain comes as I sit, next to the lake, in silence, the drops of rain here and there, nothing much, a light wetting before my swim around the island. The rain drifts off, but the sky doesn’t clear. I ride home, satisfied. It’s Monday, and I work on a poem from the letters to take to workshop and I like it. The house is quiet. In the late afternoon, my daughter and I make dinner together, seamlessly, we work together. She cuts the strawberries and melon before I get to them. She bakes the fish, mashes the avocado; I cut the lettuce, finish cutting the fruit. . . my husband comes home from the office, his room near the kitchen, for dinner. There has been rain for the roots of the growing things. We eat.