October 8, 2018

Day of almost comic productivity. Rose with a sense of vast well-being. In the last dream I had been playing in bed with my sons. Went for the first time since August to High-5, where I wrote an ending to the poem about Ireland. Tom was sitting with Wind, gnawing the edges of their screenplay. Most of my adult life was spent pursuing two relationships that would never bear fruit. Nothing to be done about that except to acknowledge.Then I went to the studio where I repainted the landscape that’s been hanging in my dining room. Dabbled, repainted, detailed, varnished. Came home and prepared the second raised bed. The edited version of The Falls of the Wyona arrived in email; that will be the great task of the week. Precision which so far exceeds mine is a wonder and a tribulation.

Trying not to listen to the news.