April 8, 2023
Holy Saturday
Enduring rain.
The brown thrashers have returned with their aggressive body language. Beauties. The male (I think) hammered away moments ago at something at the edge of the back garden.
The dogwoods outside my window make me think, upon waking, that it has snowed. The dogwood volunteer I pruned and left in the west garden bears its first flowers.
JN has died. We met several times, and I liked her, but she was married to one my dearest high school friends, whose kindness and manliness (though that is a trait difficult to define) have stayed with me through the years. I remember the day he appeared among us in first grade. Michael and I were locker-mates in the eighth grade. He chose me. I couldn’t believe my luck.
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