Last week we survived the storm and threat of a hurricane. We tried desperately to make work fun, find joy in crossing the bay, spending a few nights away from home. This morning, the first moments alone in almost a week. First taking care of the business of sending out poems, reading through the ones I still like. Last week, rejections and submissions. Still hopeful for a new poem to emerge today on the blank page. I carry my notebook and pen with me everywhere, sometimes my poems too, like Jason Shinder. He always had his poems with him. The sun has finally emerged this moment after a week of hard rain. People are watching for high tide again today. No school delay because of flooded roads. While we were away, the pumpkins arrived next door at the church. They cover the front lawn and donations are accepted. I feel the presence of the people tending them like having visitors in your backyard while you are busy in the house doing chores. Seems strange. The life of a church. Living in the parsonage. Last night we opened the back window and this morning when waking heard the arrival of egrets to the reservoir. Too wet to go to the field this morning. Perhaps tomorrow. Next on my list, remove summer clothing from closet, read the Sunday Times.
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