First day of Spring, the gravelly splut of mowers, insinuations of cut grass, bees mad-humming and earnest searching through blossom-tangled boughs, the sky blue and high and without blemish and me t-shirted and short-panted, this is what a departure from winter looks and feels like.

Even as I write though, grape-dark clouds are gathering and rain is much in the offing. Later tonight I will attend a wedding practice for my friend Greg, whose best man I am. My speech is written, only the time and manner of its delivery remain unknown.