September 1, 2007

My garden gave me a white rose for my birthday.

Some night creature takes a bite or two out of a tomato, and then leaves it in a conspicuous place, on a porch step or the flat of a stump. What is the message? “I’ve been here, sucked all the sweetness, don’t bother”?

Milkweed sends reviews of Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, which has evidently been slow in finding its critical audience. The reviews are good, flattering. Are there bad reviews they keep from me? Probably a good idea.

The sickness this time was wearying but not annihilating. I may even get to the studio. I may pull a weed or two.

The gas man came yesterday (he was afraid of the cats) and showed me where the gas line would have to plow right through my garden. I went ahead with it, but I swallowed hard.