days you do not have/ imperfectly composed

Teaching reminds me how alive I feel when I'm talking about what I love (poetry and making things) to other people. I'm a good teacher and that's mostly because of how good it makes me feel. I've also gotten more and more comfortable with being honest--in every way--with my students, including being silly, making a bit of a fool of myself, being very up front and direct in my criticism, and being the same with my praise. It feels so, so good to be back in a room talking about poetry.

And I'm also making new prints (and reprinting some old ones, for a party/fundraiser at LPW next week). There are little houses in them, gardens, telephone lines. Birds and foxes. Maybe foxes. We'll see. The fox--only rarely seen these days.

It's summer here, and it is wonderful, and tomorrow I'm having breakfast with a friend, then working in the printshop all day, and then going to get an armchair for my new house (which does not yet exist, but will). These days.