I edited in the morning, did some cooking midday, raked in the afternoon; which is to say, I managed to get more done than I feared I would. Outside, in the sunny corners, a few crocuses are beginning to bud up; and under the leaf litter I found daffodil shoots.

Today, we're supposed to get a spot of rain, which should move the growing along. I'll return to editing in the morning, then teach my high school class in the afternoon, go for a walk in the rain, make corned-beef hash for dinner.

I've finished The Mayor of Casterbridge. Now I'm reading Emily Wilson's intro to her Odyssey translation.  And today I'll probably also start Seuss's Frank.

For some reason these sentences I'm writing are coming across as rather dry and distanced, but I myself don't feel that way. I'm content enough--sitting here on the couch with my coffee, the only person upright in this sleepy house, planning out the hours: work and chores and study and rest.

It is a privilege to not be afraid.