July 28, 2022

The six-trunked black cherry that stood beside my bedroom window is gone, with a minimum of collateral damage. It shaded mostly the roof, and I can feel the difference here in my loft-office: It’s 4 PM and the room is almost uninhabitable, even with the fan on. More blue sky to the west. 

Wrote a poem having coffee on the kitchen counter, and another at riverside, hiding while Patrick and his helper cut the tree. Maud complained bitterly about the noise and upheaval. 

O dear God, I have to get to Ireland.