My children woke me early this morning. I found something to amuse them, then I roasted coffee on the front porch for the first time this spring. I sat on the porch steps to drink it while I read some poetry: Kate Cayley’s When this World Comes to an End (for the third time in the last week or two), Annie Dillard’s Mornings Like This (which seemed appropriate to the day and which has some truly profound bits in it), and Leonard Cohen’s The Spice-Box of Earth (which I have somehow managed to avoid reading until now). It was both sunny and cool. Birds were foraging in the garden. The bloodroot flowers were up in clumps.
Let me quote Dillard: “This is not a thing that I have sought, / But it has come across my path, and I have seized it.”