Late in the day T arrived home from his long weekend in the north, truck-weary but very happy, and the cat and I were also very happy, and we all spent a cozy evening returning to our regular little habits and affections. I made a welcome-home steak dinner, T chattered about what he'd seen, the cat sat in the middle of our card game--everyone enjoyed the homecoming.

Now, this morning, we're lurching back into our workaday schedule. Outside it is, of course, raining, and the birds are singing wildly and tulips are glowing in the mist and the thick grass is as green as paint. I have some hopes of weeding flowerbeds this afternoon, but not very many hopes. This rain is perpetual. Still, I refuse to be dampened--at least my spirits refuse to be dampened. The rest of me has no choice. It's a walk in the rain or no walk at all. And for my particular body, no walk at all is always the wrong answer.

I've got editing to work on today, and a conference syllabus to tweak, but no more high school classes to prep until September. With that routine gone, my schedule feels airy, untethered. I do have to drive to Monson on Friday for the kids' gallery opening, but a friend and I are going to motor up and back in one day and trade off on the driving--tiring but that means we can have a full weekend at home. Given that I've worked three Saturdays in a row, I am highly relieved that she's helping me have this option.

Meanwhile, dishes, laundry. Meanwhile, sweeping the floors. A mockingbird splashes in the bird bath. An olive-yellow warbler flutters down into a flowerbed, alighting next to a scarlet cardinal. A pileated woodpecker wails in the trees. The first iris, deep purple velvet, unfolds beside the stone wall.