There was a scattering of rain overnight: I see dampness glistening under the streetlights, hear roof drip ticking against the vents. The shower is surely lifting the spirits of the greening plants I've been releasing from last fall's matted leaves. I've still got much more to do in that regard, but there's no rush. A little rain, a little sun, a little more rain, a little more sun. My leaf chore is the least important task.

But it's been tonic to be outside, bending and stooping and lifting and carrying. It's been good to unfold my wintered-over muscles, to start living in my senses again. And I get such extreme pleasure from these early blooms: the crocuses, the snowdrops, so doughty and delicate, so tough and translucent.

The big new editing project did arrive yesterday, so today I'll be back to a regular desk schedule. I'll walk first, then slide myself into my work hours. I'll go out to write in the evening. I'll be a plain useful citizen  of the word.