Goodbye, goodbye. Goodbye to walking around the zoo and the botanical gardens and up and down State Street; to waking up in a bed that you do not have to flip back up into the wall; to sweet tea vodka with lemon verbena simple syrup and first bloom; to running around town and down to the river and up through the woods behind campus; to a whole week of reading whatever suited my fancy; to camping out with iced chai and this laptop and new lesson plans; to our friends living in their space-age magnetic house; to adventures with blackberries; to the albino beaver downtown; to single bananas and sassy cow milk; to the stupid older couple who played "Repeater" during most of Adventureland; to bad television marathons; to fish fries and Leine's with lemon. Goodbye to my bicycle. And goodbye to spring.
But hello to the case of three-buck Chuck in the trunk of my car; hello to sending out the ms. to blurbers; to the summer seminar course; to the new umbrella on my patio. Hello to the downstairs apartment and moving the B to Michigan. Hello to new poems and light suntans and basil sprouts. Hello to infusing vodka and salads with berries and long shadows on the lawn at eight-thirty and madras. Hello to Larry Brown, to Flannery O'Connor, Ray Carver, Tim Gautreaux. Hello to planters of herbs. Hello to summer.
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