What do you do when you don't know what to do with yourself? Me? I go out and see what comes my way--see as I walk. The sun was brilliant but the wind was too fierce to sit and gaze. Every cloud is perfect. (Storm clouds are perfect, too. No one complains about the shape of a cloud.)
And lilacs deliver on all their promises.
The shell of a tree sprouts suckers.
There is a memorial for the girl who drowned herself last week. You can't see how drops of moisture have condensed behind the glass that covers her picture. There is a little book in which one can write messages. People have. Brief letters addressed to her.
Redwing black birds are back at the pond.