"Queer things happen in the garden in May.  Little faces forgotten appear, and plants thought to be dead suddenly wave a green hand to confound you." 
-  W. E . Johns 

Early out, into the sunshine, across the meadow with Charlie. I am grateful to be walking even though I find only one picture calling to me. It’s a busy day; a board meeting early, and then I produce the final of four webinars for the Women Writing to the World series. Satisfaction: the Boston IWWG Retreat re-imagined in the pandemic. Susan, from Geneva, Maureen, from California and I all on Zoom for Maureen’s presentation. There was a woman from Ghana present, and others from Europe. Amazing, this happened when the in-person meeting couldn’t. I worked on the dream poem, for a workshop tomorrow. It’s not where I want it to be. Perhaps it will be. My daughter spends her days planning and planting and coming in and out all day from her garden. I like to imagine this garden in the harvest. And the baby too.