Today there were tulips and crocuses blooming alongside the path, and the lake lapping dark and softly on the driftwood shore. Winter is harsh, but spring harsher still; she eats you alive and then paints the world with your blood. Good nitrogen in blood. It brings the flowers up faster. My robinbreast is beating wildly these days. I am aching for the monastery and bursting with joy. I need to get out of the city - even this city, which certainly does not qualify.

Rushing down the hillside yesterday, just enough snow to carry the sled, bigbudded saplings whipping past on either side and the good balsam smell, sun strong and shadows clear, no clouds, no thoughts, just the crest of the season and his body streaking down the trail in front of me, just his hollering and mine joining together, all fire and wing.