September 25, 2015

 In the trances of the storm hummingbirds came to my feeders, looking so small against the storm clouds and the glowering line of trees.
   
Bought a wheelbarrow. All my plants were in before the rain. Bless. Bless. Bless.
   
Look across the street and see Will has shrouded 62 in fences. I turn away, saying to myself “A broken heart is too theatrical. Besides, nobody is watching.”
   
Told not to come to Humanities meetings, as my input is not wanted. The fury is tamped down considerably by the shrug.
   
Discover that gout has made all my dress shoes unwearable. Scamper to Steinmart to get a cheap pair that will get me, at least, to the wedding tomorrow.
   
Orgy of baking.
   
Exhausted almost to staggering. Can’t judge exactly why.