Sign of spring on the Alcott House homestead: the lenten roses in full glory. I love these flowers (also known as hellebore). The buds begin to show in March and open alongside the crocuses, but they often last into the heat of the summer--sturdy and elegant and unperturbed.

You may or may not remember that, during the pandemic, my son gave names to all of the micro-sections of our micro-property. This is what he calls the Hill Country, the slope between our driveway and our neighbors', and right now it is a sea of sky-blue scylla. Note the new arch that I've just installed, to replace the one that blew over in a storm. Soon it will be covered with roses and clematis.

 And no photo gallery is complete without a portrait of Ruckus sleeping in a fire pit.

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Yesterday afternoon's yard work was prosaic: breaking up sticks for kindling; retrieving the hose from the basement and setting it up outside. Today I hope to do some weeding and cultivating. Our plot is little, but there's still much to be done, and I only have an hour or so in the afternoons to devote to it. But gradually I'm making progress.

This morning I need to work on class planning; I need to put in some editing time; I need to deal with emails and hang laundry and do my exercises. I don't know when I'm going to find time to revise poems, or even to go back and look at the notes I made during the eclipse. And the spring air is glorious. It's hard to stay inside.