Finally, a bit of rain today, though the patchy drizzle in the forecast won't suffice for the soaker we need. Still, the plants will be grateful for a little dampness, and I won't be tempted to keep running outside away from my desk work.
I finished judging a contest on Saturday, finished writing an essay on Sunday, got the housework and food shopping done, and kneaded a poem draft into good-enough shape for tonight's poetry-group meeting . . . really I'm feeling quite pleased with myself for managing to get everything done I needed to do. As a result, I'm starting the week feeling fairly organized--nothing much on the list to distract me from the basics: exercise class, laundry, editing, and reading the Odyssey.
One task I did yesterday was to un-winterize the mantel: e,g., take all my dried bouquets--grasses, seaweeds, lichens--out to the compost bin, scrub down surfaces and doodads, and add daffodils. Now I can't stop looking at them. What is it about daffodils that gives such delight?