I can't even remember when I've last enjoyed a day with absolutely no commitments. And I certainly can't remember when I last woke up feeling relieved to see fog and grey skies out the window; now I can sit around and read all day if I feel like it and not feel guilty about squandering a sunny day or neglecting my lawn and garden.

I can curl up with the cat and tackle the enormous stack of books that has been growing rampantly on my bedside table. Or maybe I'll work on some poems. Or I can just sit here on the back porch with my crossword puzzle, while ospreys squeal nearby on the river, squirrels fling themselves through the oak tree, and the cardinal chips on the neighbor's feeder, announcing his imminent arrival on mine. It's my day.

(Well, actually, it's also my mother's day, it being her birthday. And I know she too is doing whatever she feels like today--antiquing with my dad, dinner out tonight--the way a birthday should be. Happy birthday, Mom, my one faithful reader!)

Crickets sing while I
simply sit here, absorb fog,
feel my breathing slow.