All night rain, and we are both awake early, listening. Vaguely, I think, someone should turn off this faucet. Then, the birds start to sing through it. Morning. The rain has stopped by the time the dogs and I walk in the wet woods. The sun even arrives for a moment. I go through the meadow looking for what’s new in bloom and find the bladder campion, with its white pouch. I am anxious this morning. The pressures of a busy weekend ahead and the wedding plans. I discipline myself to focus on my breath, on the blooms, on the beauty around me. I will not waste my walk with worries. I want to see. I want to be here now. And, so I am. On my knees in the wet grass, looking closely at the wildflowers. On the way back, I follow the tracks, and see some sweet, tiny yellow petals have been rained off onto the green leaves. I find a double heart and think of the bride and groom to be. I text the double heart to them, knowing they will appreciate this. Then, at home, there is the planting and yard work. I spend half the day at this: the herbs must all go in. The perennials as well. Frank helps me in the afternoon to plant echinacea and black-eyed Susans and daisies in the meadow. It starts to rain. Along the side of the Art Barn I plant handfuls of sunflower seeds. I transplant fragrant mint into the herb garden so my daughter will have some for her iced tea. (She arrives tonight from Costa Rica!) Indoors, after washing off the mud, I design a draft of the wedding invitation that includes a picture of the leaf hearts from my walk. I send it for approval; they love it. I order the invitations. I cook a simple dinner for me and Frank and sit, exhausted and happy and not anxious at all.