...sunbathing on the deck.
Stumpy the chipmunk raiding a bird feeder.
I arrived home between 6:30 and 7 p.m. last night after 9 hours of voting the budget and other money bills recommended by Finance Committee or Ways and Means. I missed the Maundy Thursday service at church. Mine consisted of listening to Disc 2 of Jesus Christ Superstar, the last supper scenes to the flogging scene, during my drive to and from the State House.
But we're attending tonight's Good Friday service.
It's a morning in a million, and I'm planning to spend it in my garden. The week's progress on the book will briefly stall, I've got itchy fingers and can't wait to get them dirty. (Only I'll be wearing my gardening gloves.)
Just a few lumps of snow remain here and there, in shaded places near the house and in the foest. But my bulbs are about to burst. It's warm and sunny.
The greatest proof that I should be working in my garden is audible rather than visual--the chittering of redwing blackbirds coming from the lakeshore in front of the house, and the distant quacks of the buffleheads, and all the other tweets and whistles and chirps.
The annual spring symphony is well under way, and when I'm in my garden I get to hear it in surround-sound!
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