Who among us hasn’t wanted to plunge headfirst into the intoxication of narcissus? And look—the butterfly is already covered in pollen, desperate for more. (Thanks to Mr S for calling me out to the backyard: "Get your camera! Get your camera!")

After fruit and waffles with our always entertaining granddaughter, I put in a couple of hours trimming the roses. It’s a slow process because I consider every cut, every implication.Though it’s in the thirties at night (cold for here), it warms up quickly by mid-morning, making it pleasant to be out in the garden, crawling around and raking up the wet leaves. In the afternoon I walked to the library and then over to the coffee store for an Orange Bittersweet Mocha Latte, if you can imagine such a thing. A brief stroll down the main street of town and I encountered some ukulele friends busking across from the movie theater (see Extra). My son came for dinner, and now I’m winding down. Maybe a little Doc Martin on Netflix, and then goodnight.

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