Off to retreat in Normandy.
The news is in the details, wider and wider every moment.
April is rounding a corner, turning away from a sort of stutter, from something fragile, toward something strongly fragile, without hesitation. I like that, and the sun sneaking in and out of the clouds.
Two troublesome grandchildren just ruined a perfect spring day.
I hear my anger and my rigor and I really don’t like myself any more than they do.
But it happens and it can’t be avoided, not all of the time.
I make a note; don’t have the grandchildren over on perfect spring days.