Monday, March 5

• Ahead, on the dappled sidewalk, two brightly-stockinged legs sticking out, like the witch's legs in the Wizard of Oz

• A colloquium of crows. They are all gathered around two groupings of rocks, along a single strand of the path.

• The time of the grandparents: suddenly I realize that most the children I see in the park are sitting with older people who are probably their grandparents. Guess the parents are trying to make up all the work time they missed during the dress-up season. And I wonder what happens to those who don't have grandparents who can step in
• The crows are haunting me today. Three sitting overhead, balanced on twigs so thin, they don't seem capable of bearing the weight. One flies off, leaving two, sitting like mirror images one of the other

• Behind the crows, between the dark branches of the tree, a few bright spots of hanging laundry in reds and pinks.  

• Finally weeded the garden, which has turned into an overgrown jungle. Y. afraid of the tangled green. I start tearing up endless delicate strands. I notice that two have small purple flowers and feel sad I uprooted them. Keep telling Y. To be gentle with the pansies. How we love what we plant. Why this preference? Some of the weeds were lovely too.