It’s possible, but unlikely, that I have been in the water of Farm Pond in April before today. 93 degrees. When I finally left my desk in the afternoon, I was startled by the heat. Nice and cool this morning on my walk in the woods before a poetry peer meeting online. I have skipped swimming this week. Spring is calling from the wetlands and woods, and I am giving myself some rest. Taking it easy. The heron is hanging around and startles every morning up into the sky above me. The mallards are happy in the brook. The birdsong is loud and pleasant and cheerful and ubiquitous. My friends are such astonishing poets. I had a poem too, the new one, from Monday. Good feedback. And in the afternoon I started writing another before I spent time with the special one. We went to Farm Pond, and it was crowded, of course. Hot, hot day, and there were other kids which was nice. And I wasn’t going to swim because I didn’t want to take my eyes off him. But my youngest came after work and had a bathing suit in her trunk and after she took a dive into the chill, I had to follow. Whoa! It was shocking to be in head first, and I didn’t want to stay in. Arms pleasantly tingly. Tonight, early evening, the bunny hopping around the flower garden in the center of the driveway and the purple buds are on the rhododendron by the front door and the forsythia is in bloom.