I talked to Scotland, made some crepes, read the
Times, wrote a couple of drafts and revised another poem, listened to Sufjan Stevens and Glenn Gould, ate leftover enchiladas, walked the dog, watched a movie with my daughter, thought about my life, wished I had Christmas lights up, thought about John Clare and getting lost, sent some worky e-mails, corresponded with students, and wished I had a piece of pie. And now I am in my dressing gown and shall read and do a crossword and dream about next week.
That is all.
John Clare. I was thinking about him at the first of the week also. I am: yet what I am none cares or knows. And that attentive eye to nature's details.
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