Every year, I forget what this alien-looking plant is when it comes up out of the ground all over town. If I'm not mistaken, these red stalks will turn into peonies. But I think I might be mistaken. (I so want to imagine that it's rhubarb and that I could harvest and bake it, because it's just about that time of year again.)

These days, every afternoon is one conversation after another, each one an energizer because there is nothing in my life like watching students fall in love with a book they've never imagined they'll love, and every evening is a poetry reading followed by another day's work. And each day I'm glad to have been carrying the camera, if only so that I don't forget to look at what I'm seeing.