The daffodils that I planted last fall want to stick their heads up. But they are unsure. Last year a frost arrived mid-April and ruined all my cherries. We sat on the deck this morning and wondered when we could swim. I am starting to talk to my gardener friend about laying drip hoses and finding dahlia bulbs if there are any to be had; people have

become avid gardeners suddenly. 

 

I have all sorts of plans for the studio and forget how much a sunny, beautiful day calls me outside: the boats, the buds, the beach. Perhaps, I will put on a sun hat and work at the picnic table. The iron in my clay will turn it red and that will be just fine.