September 13, 2024

Two more days of heavy gardening. Planted the items I bought yesterday wandering about waiting for the cleaning lady to be done (succulents and veronica), filled the redwood barrel with dirt, moved Saint Francis out of the lilac thicket into the light, moved the stone swan up onto a block so it would not be concealed by grass, uncovered another ring snake which I think I managed not to kill. As well as the plants I bought bags of dirt for raised beds, and the smell in my car with them in the back was paradisal: like pure water running in a stone cave, but warm. 

Search my conscience to discover why K is perturbed with me, then decide it’s not my work to do. Some dynamic at AS generates middle school clique rivalries of which it is wholly–or at least vocally–unaware. Being–or pretending to be–unaware insures they drag out to eternity. 

HART gets in touch about doing Washington Place in October. I will like that.

Suzanne’s bouquet arrived, and she was happy. One of the flowers matched the jacket she will wear at her reading tonight. 

Hummingbird hovered inches from my face for a considerable time. Did she think I was a flower? What did she think? I’d like to know. 

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Watching S’s reading, evidently in her church basement. Her features have sharpened, as have all of ours, but I would recognize her in a crowd.  The microphones are set wrong, and not one word of her intro is audible. I did hear her dedicate the reading to Philip Booth. I do hear her gentle, motherly, memorable voice, the tune if not the lyrics. .