September 24, 2018

Wordsworth this AM, maybe the best I’ve done on him. Mike Oppenhein took photos of me in the Botanical Garden in light rain. He said the gray soft light was perfect for a portrait. I couldn’t take my eyes of the infinity of native flowers.  Terror House magazine in Budapest takes my Budapest poems– which I submitted by email last night.

September 23, 2018

One of my favorite days of the year. Who knows why? Maybe something wonderful happened on September 23rd.  Cleaned the pond filter, released a pinkish-goldish fish that had come out with the gunk. Hacked bamboo. Weeded a little. Dug holes for daffodil bulbs, not accomplishing what I meant to. Progress on Sam-sam. Regretted something with all my heart, but was unable to pin down exactly what it was. Miss Sam. I hope things are going as he planned. Watching Jason on Face Book. When I knew him he wanted to be a better-and-better artist. Now he has become a professional VET, nursing a never-ending grievance, which though genuine will not uphold him. One shrugs where only God can see.

September 22, 2018

Rose yet again in darkness, drove through the end-of-summer farmlands to Lake Logan and sang as much at choir camp as I could. Almost fell asleep during the round after lunch. Must see about this. The trees around the lodge are familiar to me, almost old friends. If they move, you look for an animal, but either the animal is invisible or it is only the wind.

September 21, 2018

Equinox. Nevertheless, sweet summer evening. Good class this AM, saying goodbye to Blake. I mean to write a little and then go put the tools away that I left strewn over the lawn after today’s gardening. Much digging and mulching, much mulching of what was dug and planted earlier. The only new things into the ground are daffodils.

Jon and Simone and I seem to have got the commission lined up in a way that profits all. It always surprises me when working with composers that they will not start a piece until the funding is in place. I go ahead and write it, assuming I can use it for something else if the commission goes awry. My friendship with Frank Ferko almost ended because I didn’t understand this. I have paid too little attention to getting paid, and it has had consequences.

Choir camp tomorrow. I’d weep if I thought too much about it.

I leave for school when it s still fully dark. This morning there were odd sounds in the black mass of trees between me and the next house. I thought it might be a bear. If it was, it never came out of the trees. Seeing a bear in your yard is the end of a kind of innocence.

September 16, 2018

Though it rained gently through the night, no sign of anything like unto a hurricane. Quite silent outside, except for the night insects. As I write dawn pales greenish gray.

September 15, 2018

The sky just before dusk is gray and gray and darker gray. Rained some, though whether that was part of the hurricane I doubt. We’re meant to be getting it full-on tonight. Did good work at the studio. Revised two plays. In a nap dream, Robert Mueller was anxious for me to try a recipe he had just made. One mishap after another kept me from ever tasting it.

September 14, 2018

One evening I looked out the back window and saw a cloud of dragonflies hovering and towering over the lawn. They seemed not to be interested in the pond. I had never seen such a thing– like a vertical migration.

Fleas on me, but not, so far as I can find, on the cats. I spray and they’re gone for a day or so. I check every twinge, every tickle on me to see if it’s a hated black speck. Almost never is, but often enough to keep the energy up.

Not very productive days–much napping, much achievement of minor chores. Good classes, I think, though what are they thinking behind their smiles or blank visages? One girl sleeps through most of class, misses the exam (for no particular reason), then can’t make up the exam because every moment she’s not in class she’s practicing with the track team. I say, “skip something.” She says, “I’ll talk to my coach.” She’s sweet, and her sweetness deflects wrath. You get into trouble if you say, “drop now; you can’t possibly succeed,” though it is the truth. Neither class remembers being told that “amount” is for measurable things and “number” for countable.

Hurricane Florence already hammering the Carolina coast. It’s dead calm here at this hour, but everyone prepares for the worst, buys out the grocery stores. I have liquor, mixers, radishes, cabbage, bratwurst, consider myself prepared.

Evening: after class I engaged in deep gardening, finally getting the round garden in the back dug up, ready to be mulched. No more exhausted than I would have been had I done nothing at all–maybe less. Planted allium and iris. The sky to the north– what I can see from the study window– is flamingo and azure.