In the early morning we wake up. In the early morning we talk. I feed the dogs. The rooster crows. Frank gives him banana. Later in the day Frank and Franci will build him a coop out of an old piece of furniture he and I bought on our honeymoon at an antique store on our way home from the White Mountains. Will he use it? That’s to be seen. What hot sun in the yard. After I work on a poem, I go out to work in the yard. This poem is one I shared in workshop a week ago. I have thought about it all week. What to do with it? Put it away forever? or figure out how to revise it? Could I? I felt quite eager and also reluctant to work on it. And within an hour or two? I have a revision I feel pretty good about. I thought it would be harder than it was. Should it be? Who knows. The compost must be carried to the garden, stuffed in the bins and the bins must be turned. The buckets rinsed. It’s time to bring some of the geraniums and the hibiscus indoors for the winter. Frank helps me plant the plants we bought last week in the side yard, and I water well. He says this has turned out to be the most special area of the yard. On the deck, I haul out all the hanging plants, there are eight of them, that must be re-potted in pots I bought six or nine months ago for this project. Why today, finally? Who knows? It was a lengthy chore, and it’s done, and I felt like doing it, today of all days. This was a lovely, relaxing Saturday, and yet much was accomplished. I am making my indoor garden for the winter where I will grow things. I want to always be growing things. I didn’t listen to anything as I worked outdoors today except the quiet of my mind in the warm breeze and the golden leaves showering the grass.