My class turned out to be great yesterday--so lively and engaged, including a complex and wide-ranging conversation on how we define our own talent, what holds us back, what holds us up. It's amazing how bubbly those old Chinese poets can be, when they're dropped into a pond of teenagers. Afterward, the various staff members gathered for a meeting about end-of-year plans, so I got home later than usual, with my eyes all squinchy and exhausted. But no bad weather, no zoom, and a table full of engaged kids: thus, no complaints.

Today, back to the regular grind--editing, housework, a meeting--but I'm planning to go out to the salon tonight, which will be a respite. I think it will be a cold day, so no gardening or outdoor laundry, though I hope for a walk. My eyes are still pretty twitchy: the poor things have less and less stamina, and I use them so hard. A walk, housework, gardening: they're all rest for my eyes, if not for the other parts of me.

In Portland, crocuses are blooming everywhere, but up north the snow is still thick. Going back and forth yesterday was like jumping a fence between weather zones. Winter may be fading in central Maine, but it's not gone. Yet in the little city, bulbs are spiking everywhere; peas and spinach are planted; even the grass is hinting at green.

Today, opening day for baseball. Today, a high of 39 degrees. Today, firewood and hot tea and warm boots. Today, sprigs of infant greens thrusting through the soil. Today, tender morning light and the sweet whistle of a nesting cardinal. Today, frost on every windshield. Spring in Maine is every damn thing there is.