Melvillian Loomings.

Comes this morning in a festival of excellent timing the brother, the sister-in-law, the baby. To the house. At this point in the semester. What could go wrong?

Weather: So good it makes me want to chase white whales, though there is out there the possibility of ninety degrees Saturday or Sunday, which could sour the hunt. The brother, the sister-in-law, and the baby leave Sunday morning. Maybe sooner, if, say, the baby bangs something denty into the new bookshelves. Or if, say—oh, this cannot be a productive game.

Fires in South Carolina and no rain in the forecast until Thursday. Birds woke me up somewhere in the five-o'clock hour. There is not enough coffee in the world for what comes next.