A glove has gone missing, a black knit one. No matter. I can cope.
People are refusing to wear their hats. Look around. See what I mean?
Birds, the intrepid ones, the scouts, are singing heartily in the trees behind our house, not often, not aways, but with great sincerity.
I have decided not to make pot roast for dinner after all. Instead we will have salmon and asparagus, and melon for dessert.
The cats, both cats, went outside. It was only for about four minutes, but they did it. Afterwards, they ran shivering upstairs and tucked themselves back in into bed.
This morning I forgot to use the magic blue fob on my keychain that starts my car from behind the kitchen door.
The trees on the hillsides, that last month were only unrelenting gray, now present themselves in a pink sort of haze, if you catch them in just the right light.
The bottle of water in my car is not always frozen solid. Such freezing creates a useful missile to hurl at brigands and bears, but does nothing for the thirsty driver.
The seed catalogues that arrive in the mail make sense now. The ones that came in January went straight into the recycling bin.
