At 5:30 a.m. in mid-March, the temperature in Portland is 55 degrees, with a gusty warm wind. I know the thermometer will drop into the 20s again tonight. Still, letting the cat out and getting smacked in the face by a summer breeze while trying to keep the storm door from blowing off its hinges was an alluring and unsettling moment.

It's trash day today, so trundling out to the curb is the next chore on my list. And I need to walk up to the meat market to buy a flank steak for tonight's fire-pit date. And I need to work on some Frost Place planning, and do the vacuuming I didn't do yesterday, and take my yoga class; and probably I'll talk to my Chicago son, and I'll read Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge, and of course rake out some more garden beds.

Here's a glimpse of what's happening in the Parlor Bed.

That's tulips you see, sprouting bravely in the warming soil. Yesterday, I uncovered big patches of crocus shoots, cut back dead branches and leaves in the herb garden, and found new growth amid the thyme, oregano, sage, sorrel, and chives, Already my spring nemeses, the maple seedlings, are obnoxiously uncoiling their tap roots.

By the way, re Frost Place planning: Applications to the Conference on Poetry and Teaching are brisk, and we're already more than half full. So apply soon if you're hoping to snag a spot.