Fiercely Springlike.

I am front porched instead of doing the homework I'm meant to be doing—just can't quite take it today, which is nice, because the weather's too good to do much of anything other than what I'm doing now, which is drinking what's left of the coffee and listening the church chime eleven. Soon enough the tinies will be out in the playground screaming and wheeling around. Soon enough I'll have to go to school. There's a crow the size of the dog out in the street by the trash cans. Any other bird you can think of is in any other tree you can name. The maple in the downhill mouse's front yard is blooming red. The tulips I thought I'd frozen on the floorboard of the truck are coming up around our dying dogwood. Half the Christmas lights are still wound around half the porch. God, I'm ready for this.

Weather coming in later on in the week. Whatever it is that's making tornadoes in Oklahoma has intentions of making calmer storms here, but storms all the same. We'll see, I guess, just how watertight that little building is, how French-drainy the French drain. We've had storms since I put it in, and hard rain, even. Just no thunderstorms yet.

It feels like I don't know what to tell you about almost anything, that all I know how to do is sit still in these few minutes before the rest of the day rears up. The rest of the week. The rest of the month. I've been having trouble finding calm, finding quiet. Mornings like this morning can't do anything, though, but help.