Slowly, slowly, I am returning to human form. It is amazing how even a minor illness can skew a person's ability to negotiate among the simple matters of daily life. Nothing made sense this past week, I was confused about everything, so forgive me for whatever dimwit thing I might have said to you.

Anyway, here I am--still not exactly healthy, but optimistic. The sun is shining and the snow is melting and I am fidgeting with a poem revision and reading the stories of Alice Munro. Today looks to be the sort of day when Tom might take down the storm windows and the cat will try to climb the ladder and the dog will joyously discover the old flat mole she buried last fall. And I am thinking about digging in the garden patches near the house, hauling away branches and bark, repairing plow-damaged sod, pruning roses. I am probably not well enough to follow through on most of those plans, but at least I am interested in the idea of working hard.

Now let's talk about food. For dinner last night, we had our first taste of spring: diced parsnips roasted in olive oil. Yesterday I saw chive and hop shoots thrusting through the gray leaf litter. Perhaps today I will uncover garlic or rhubarb or trace signs of the nettles that grow in the forest verge behind the chicken house.

Thin pizza dough topped with olive oil, fried garlic, chopped blanched nettles, parmesan, and red-pepper flakes. Dinner of the spring gods.