Moments I like:

Turning the corner by the willow trees, I’m almost home now — just half a block to go. The willow leaves say susssssss in the breeze, the fence’s worn wooden ball finial is rough as my hand grazes it. For a few days during the spring, this whole corner has the most magical smell of lilac and honeysuckle and fading evening sunlight.

On cool nights when The Fella is already asleep, I turn out the lights and lie there in the dark, writing on the laptop and wrapped in my fluffy cozy robe (no doubt spun from some space-age polymers). When I’m ready for bed, I shuck off my robe in the dark and tiny flashes of light flare as static sparks snap off the fabric.

Making bread, the dough starts out ragged and sticky, then a little crumbly, then it gets tighter and more cohesive until suddenly it’s smooth and supple under my hands, a perfectly kneaded batch of dough.

update: Comments are toast again, folks, so I’m turning them off for the moment. Two comments that showed up in my email:

T.R. says: I love writing this way whether you, I or someone we do not know does it.

sgazzetti says: The long, spiky, early-morning shadow cast by a gumdrop-sized horsechestnut brought down by last night’s thunderstorm, and Adam’s joyful “look, Papa, a tiny conker!” as I walk him to kindergarten.)

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