The meadow is a healing energy. Charlie and I cross the trestle bridge to reach it. Follow the slim trail through the uncut grass along the river that the deer make, flattening as they cross at night or early morning, evading the hunters, in the land of the milkweed floss. Bright and cold, truly November. So grateful for the cheerful blue of the sky, the cloudlessness. I needed my good long walk in my own thoughts and quit. Men working in every corner of the house today: a good thing. But it was hard to find a place to dress for the day, as they were inside the rooms and outside the windows. Progress is a funny thing. Our wonderful bathroom mirror that we love, and is just right, really doesn’t work. Its sensors are off. It lights itself as it pleases, flashing in a ghostly way all night. Frank says the manufacturer will replace it. In April! Oh, well. I made more progress on the kitchen. It was nice to cook, all of ate at home in our various segments. The house is cheerful. Me, I am trying. I am succeeding some of the time. I am, perhaps, 65 percent cheerful. As opposed to my 97 percent usual cheerfulness. I picked the special one up early as I do on Mondays and he was cheerful. We were cheerful, but cold, at the playground. Finally he said his hands were just to icy and we went home and I made him hot chocolate to warm up, and just the act of doing so warmed me up. Poetry tonight, and I enjoyed it. Expansive, into the pantoum. I feel positive about the revisions. I slept well, but very disturbing, cinematic, super involved narrative dream. Kind of exhausting. I wonder if there will be ice tomorrow morning. Temperature dropping.