The lilacs are in full purple bloom, and the rain is rushing down their stems and leaves and clustered blossoms to the ground. It's sliding on the windows too, and melting into the ground. Attempting to look out the south windows, it's as if the field and the trees and the valley are only part of a vague painting, blurred and softened by the wet sheen across the glass. But the lilacs, just outside the east windows, are perfectly visible.
Chicken curry soup is heating on the stove for lunch. Behind it is a covered sauce pan of just-made pudding, cooling for tomorrow's Easter dessert, and on the warming rack is the torte crust, a crispy thin mixture of pecans, butter and flour. There are egg-decorating things laid out on the counter.
For today, these things make up my life, and it is good.