I like when I sleep with the window and waking find myself wondering how the animals are in their rest, and where they are in their nests and stumps and holes and tunnels and dens in the woods outside my window. Or imagine the nocturnal ones, out all night, returning home to rest. That’s what I woke thinking about. And, about the transition in D.C. The solemnity of the day. I walked to the river and the sky was split. The trail was dry where it has been too wet to walk through, and I thought, good, the water has been absorbed into the aquifer. In the morning brook, I found an image in the ice that looks like the heads of two blue and wild geese heads and it was just the beauty I was craving. I took time, when I got home, to apply the feedback to my most recent poem sent by my friend. Her feedback was so helpful, I revised and went back to her for a second helping, and she obliged. I will be pleased to bring it to my Thursday workshop. I also prepped for my Farm Pond Writers tomorrow, and a workshop I’m doing for the New England Poetry Club on Thursday night. At dusk, I watched the Memorial Service on tv for all those who we’ve lost—all 400,000—with Biden and Harris and was very moved. I didn’t realize Frank was also watching in another room; I thought he was still in his office. I went upstairs, and he was very moved, asked if I’d seen it. Yes, I said. Decency. That is what new leadership is bringing to the White House. And so much more, but, finally––that.