07 April 2004 - 11:21 p.m.
So, so tired, and still no high G to speak of, but I drafted a new poem in the supermarket parking lot right before rehearsal, and there's one I wrote last fall in this week's Clean Sheets.
And there are yet more trees now in bloom in my back yard, branches so lavish with shining white and pink petals I catch my breath almost every time I step outside. I pass my neighbors' yards, so cheerful with clusters of periwinkle and purple phlox.  Sometimes I find myself ridiculously near tears as I try to accept that I will not always be around to savor all this - and simultaneously wildly joyful and grateful, for I'm invariably and inevitably reminded that my being here at all seems to me such a tangle of accident, coincidence and deliberate design. Such sweetness each season - oh, abiding and abundant grace.
At noon we have rain, which washes away the snow,
 "O Song, what will become of me when spring
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