10 a.m. in the Checkers (supermarket for you out-of-towners) parking lot, I saw a man surely in his 70s or older carrying a one-year-old girl with thick black hair corralled into two uneven pigtails. Right before he entered the store to get a cart, she leaned into him, and he kissed her forehead.
Hyacinth, even the ones so overwhelmed with the weight of their blossoms that they fall to the ground.
A small bench, probably for toddlers, in front of a large blossoming magnolia tree.
The late Bill Hatke’s house painted as if it sprung from a Dr. Suess book.
The wind picking up Sunday at nightfall, calling in a low tone through the trees as if it were a chorus of tenors.
The sauteed spinach I had for dinner tonight: a little butter, nutritional yeast and salt but mostly spinach compressed by the heat into a handful of green from the big springing pile I poured into the skillet.
A surprise via email (more on this within a few days).
The frosting on Kelley’s peanut-butter vanilla and my retro (think Hostess) cupcakes as we walked down Mass. street on a windy, sunny day, savoring our little pieces of heaven.
Lying on the futon bed on the porch with Ken one late afternoon, joking about the secret lives of our animals.
Today when my small, sweetheart of a cat Miyako climbed on my chest, lay down, fell off me to the left while aligning her body with mine, tucked her head under my chin, and went into a sleep, purring sleep.
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