Sunshine and warmth! What is this strange world? Yesterday was storybook May, and today will be another such day, and, yes, it's supposed to rain for the rest of the week, but I'm taking joy where I can find it . . . I ate my breakfast outside, and my lunch outside, and I sat out on the stoop with the cat during every editing break, and opened all of the windows, and wore a summer dress with sandals, and brewed ice tea, and the birds sang like crazy and chipmunks dashed hither and yon, and toddlers shrieked excitedly at the cat, and the vegetable seedlings sprouted new leaves to celebrate.

I've been rereading LeCarre's A Perfect Spy, though I'm still procrastinating on Shelley and have to get myself moving on that project this afternoon. I've started to figure out next week's New York schedule--so far MOMA with Jeannie, the Rockaways with Paul, trivia night at the bar, a reading at KGB. I found some free primroses on the side of the road and planted them in a front garden bed. I got a haircut and drank a beer and made risotto with chicken and wild mushrooms in it and I lost a cribbage game.

Small patterns ripple the hours. Laundry flickers on the line. I'll write a poem.