Still fresh and cheerful, hydrangea in bloom, and I run past the bush and backtrack to appreciate it, as I do every day. Today, a run. I stay close to home, run around the property in circles for Suzi who does not want to be left out but who would poop out and be stuck if I let her follow us very far, me and Charlie. Both dogs dip happily in the morning brook, Suzi swims in a shimmer of gold leaves reflecting on blue. I give myself a good workout, and I am eager to be at my desk, no appointments, except with myself. What should I do with yesterday’s poem draft? That’s ahead. It’s so wonderfully vacant and quiet in my office, shutting the door. Me and all my plants, the ritual of watering, first. I open Tony Hoagland’s book, which I am slowly reading, The Art of Voice: Poetic Principles and Practice, read a page or two and then I know what to do. I do it, best as I can. Late afternoon, have a draft to send off for workshop tomorrow. Tonight, on my couch, facing the french doors I see in the black sky the moon rising, full tomorrow, and then on Zoom meet with my poetry pals, Randy & Marlon, and their poems are wonderful and they like what I show them too and I think how special, our meetings, sharing poems, across all these miles, our trust in sharing our work with each other.