Yesterday started out cool but blossomed into a gift--bright skies, sunshine, the garden new-washed and greening. Chives are tall; sorrel is thickening. Radishes, spinach, and peas are spreading their infant leaves. Sage and thyme sprout fresh growth amid last fall's dusty branches. Primula is blooming; so are daffodils and grape hyacinths. Peony shoots stretch their red feathery arms.

Early in the morning I hung sheets on the line, then did some writing and talked to my Chicago son. At 9 I had my yoga class, and afterward I started work on a new editing project. Midday I went out to visit three curbs. First, I coiled through the byzantine streets of Westbrook to obtain 10 pounds of King Arthur flour and 5 pounds of sugar from a restaurant that is selling off its baking supplies. Then I wandered among warehouse roads (an odd clutter of World War monickers: Eisenhower, Pershing, McArthur, Bradley) to get the fruit, butter, and hand sanitizer (the first bottle I've been able to find since this mess started) which I'd ordered from a restaurant-wholesaler-turned-please-just-buy-our-stuff company. Then I stopped at a specialty market to get bagels and salad greens.

At home I texted my neighbor and we met outside to distance-barter some of our loot: she had too much celery; I had an extra grapefruit and a whole watermelon. One fine side-effect of this pandemic is that I've gotten much friendlier with her, now that we're both home all the time. Another is, lord, how I love my yoga class--not so much for the exercise (though that's good) but for redirecting my pinging brain. Just the sound of my teacher's voice is a balm.

Paul spent all afternoon "in class" on the sunny front stoop. I pottered in the garden: weeding, cutting chives, stringing trellis for future scarlet runners. When Tom came home, the two of us went for a bike ride in the cemetery and stopped to listen to peepers and bullfrogs flirting in the duck ponds. For dinner I made penne with spicy tomato sauce and a big salad. We ate watermelon for dessert.

The present tense, the present tense. I tried to stay there yesterday, and mostly succeeded. I tried to concentrate on the sweetness . . . a fresh pineapple on the counter, a spring wind in my hair.

Today I need to record myself reading a poem, for a project that the Maine Women's Writing Center is putting together. I need to answer some interview questions about my work in the archive. I need to call my parents and my sister. I need to edit a manuscript. I need to roast a chicken. I need to I need to.

And the days travel on.