#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

The clocks will change this weekend, and so the bright, bright early morning will start later. This morning, the sun woke me early. Still, opening the door, the air was warmer, so inviting. No heavy coat! And the middle of March has arrived, the snow melted on the deck, the dogs recline happy-lazy in the sun of the front yard all afternoon. It’s a birthday weekend in this house, my middle child, my second born, my daughter born on March 14. I registered online for the vaccine. I will get a text with an appointment. When? Who knows? But how wonderful to imagine I’m in some queue in the etherlands. This is the anniversary, one year, of Frank and I heading home from Florida weeks early at the start of the pandemic. The ice has melted; the wind blew ripples on the morning river. I sloshed over wet straw in the wetlands for the fun of it. The brook is snow-water filled, running high. My youngest comes for dinner, says, there will be 50-mile an hour winds tonight, and yes, they are blowing up now in the black night outside my window. (Jane, if you are reading this, I hope you are feeling better!) After a day on the computer, at 4:00 p.m. I changed clothes and went eagerly into the spring-like yard. Dragged wagons out of the shed. Began a clean up. Picked up sticks, raked up leaves with my hands. Carried dead plants to the compost. Tired myself out quickly, happily. It’s spring clean up! Let the growing season begin!