I worked at my desk all morning, and then my friend Gretchen came and snagged me for a chilly walk, my friend Angela called me for a long catch-up-with-everything talk, my friend Sue emailed about a visit next week . . . and it was a just a really nice day. To be thought of, by people I love; to have quiet time in the house; to retrieve a sense of plain steadiness.

Today will be another unassuming day: laundry, editing, cooking, walking. Maine's in a cold snap. It was minus 2 when I left Harmony on Sunday morning. Portland has been warmer, but not warm. Still, the bright skies are buoyant. Snowdrops are blooming in a yard down the street. The house is cozy and neat, and my little study--its handmade bookshelves and desks, the small blue easy chair I found on the street, the modest north-facing sunlight, the scattered mementos of dear ones . . . it is the nicest tiny workroom I can imagine. I am glad to be spending the week there.

The older I get, the happier I am with small. Miniature garden, miniature rooms. And yet I also feel as if my life has gotten so much more expansive. I was very lonely in the woods, though I treasured that loneliness, and I treasured those woods. Now I am not so lonely, and I treasure that too.

This recent breast-cancer scare has been, in its way, a cautionary tale. In the three weeks between the first and second radiology visits, I thought a lot about what I didn't want to do. Panic. Pretend. Damage affection. I was lucky enough to have another chance to keep trying.