This morning the cat decided to sleep in; in fact I got up before he did, the lazy sod. So there were no more 2 a.m. hijinks, and I, for one, feel good about that.

The quiet week continues: an exercise class and a batch of easy editing, then bread baking, some work outside in the garden, chicken for dinner. Maybe I'll sort through my summer clothes. Maybe I'll wash some sweaters and scarves. Maybe I'll write. Maybe I'll lie in the hammock and stare up into the trees.

Yesterday on our walk Paul and I spied a bird we'd never seen before: a red crossbill, perched at the tip of a spruce tree. Paul was very excited . . . he has learned to love birds--and I think, for him, that's been a small sweetness of the pandemic: finding joy in a flash of color, or a spill of song.