All the windows open, and the morning only 50 degrees. Hugely freshly zestilly pleasant. Suzi is only interested in pasta these days. My daughter says, with a little bit of butter on it. She will eat what she wants to eat. She gets her pasta, but without butter, when I am serving it. I save my walk for later and prune. I go pruning and weeding; the growth around here is absolutely unstoppable and there is no way to stop it. So, I just clean up what I want to clean up in any given morning. The grape arbor gets a trim. One of the red maples too, and the front bed along the porch gets weeded. . . oh, well. I enjoy this. Being outside with the birds in the fresh morning. I have a chance to work on the poems from letters today, and I clean up a few, but also let a few alone, and this is heartening, to find some are just right the way I made them in the first place. Still, I go over my notes from workshop for each one, appreciating the perceptive and thoughtful feedback from the other poets. In the afternoon, late, I get out again for a wander in the green thick softness of the leafy woods. There is so much to see growing. I meet no humans. It’s a fine coolness. Today the Pulitzer prizes were announced, so I purchased on Audible Louise Erdrich’s winner in fiction: The Night Watchman. I am still listening to The Warmth of Other Suns. Enjoying it is not the right word. Appreciating the history and the storytelling and the awakenings into this major historical and cultural event, understanding the drivers, the impact, the consequences, the breadth and depth of her writing is remarkable. By the brook the ferns a such a powerful, invigorating presence. They green me, body and soul.