So many days begin promisingly and then tank in the least expected ways. This morning there was milky espresso and toast and jam. And there were deer in the yard. (Can you see them both? One is a bit tricky. Click on the picture to see )
And then things were fine for awhile, and then they were quite lovely, and then they were simply noisy and confused. I did what I could, said things I needed to say, read more of the Brownings' love letters, cooked dinner for someone beside myself for a change, patted a dog, talked to my excellent mother. Read some poems on the stairwell of poetry at the officehouse (we covered a stairwell in poetry during April, National Poetry Month). Came home again in the dark with my computer and my stack of photographs.
Tomorrow, I will start again. Some days are like this, and at least it wasn't raining.
In the art barn, all the rooms have gone silent and clean, all the young artmakers vanishing for the summer. I sat in the empty and shining photo lab, in the evening sun, waiting for the mounting press to heat up. I thought about missing that space. I thought about being missed. I went back to my reading.