Early awake, but overtired, and grumpy. I didn’t feel like doing anything. But I set off on my bike to honor the ritual. The clouds were blue-gray and low and lovely. At the dock, I was the last one there. I stretched and then wrote. I wrote what is, hopefully, notes for a draft of a poem inspired by my blog last night about trimming the cedar. And a haircut, from childhood. We shall see. I didn’t feel a lot of energy for swimming, but then I dove in and had some. I rode my bike the long way home, tackling the hill I didn’t want to tackle, passing the meadow. I stopped, entranced and beckoned by the host of black-eyed Susans in the morning light of the meadow. And, then I smiled and felt very very happy. Flowers are like that. These ones were. Lighthearted, I proceeded. I had lots of drafts of poems in the bank, the poems from letters, to choose from to bring to Monday night workshop. I chose well. Feedback was great. In the late afternoon, I made an eggplant parmesan for dinner, we ate on the deck in the heat. No breeze at all. After dinner I watered all the flower gardens and this felt very very satisfying: to give these living things a drink on their dry dry soil. Workshop for me tonight was like that. A drink on my dry soil. Deep down to my roots.