April 4, 2021
Blinding bright, sharply cool Easter Day. Begin by feeding the birds. The thrush pair perched on the rim of the feeder, waiting for me to bring something to their liking. Eastertide has been rich and meaningful for me. Perhaps singing the Good Friday canticles put me in the mood. I’ve been engaged in a new way with the particulars of life. Getting the vaccine has filled me with hope. I rise in the morning conflicted about whether I want to write or garden or hike, happy that I want to do many thing and there is too little time rather than none and there is too much time. Began my first play in more than a year. Almost unbearably desirous to get back to painting. That is the one ambition that offers actual, material difficulties.
Late afternoon: Chant on Pandora. Dug and planted: filled a barrel with paper and dirt and planted lavender. Planted white lilies; transplanted meadow rue which lay in the way of the lilies. Feeling of well-being. Cristo e’ ristorto.
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