Finally I have shifted into that most delightful of illness phases, convalescence. Yesterday morning I feared I might have a head cold forever, but this morning I feel hopeful, rested, unclogged, and delicate. My husband no longer shakes his head ruefully when he looks at me, but I still feel the vague aura of sickness, something akin to the scent of an occasional breeze blowing in from a cow pasture. Anyway, barring the lingering coughs and chokes, I'm on the mend.

I spent yesterday trying to catch up on chores that required neither intelligence nor stamina--e.g., buying storage bins at Target and pressing the button on the doctor's portal that signs me up for a shingles vaccine. Somehow I also managed to take a non-blurry photo of the cluster of scylla blooming so brightly in my front garden. Happy cold early spring from the coast of Maine, dear friends . . . where clumps of aged snow fade alongside a few bright-faced flowers, and the wind cuts like a dull kitchen knife, and eider families bounce and bob in the ripples on the bay.