In the woods, though we are barely outside of town - the stretch of road I most loathed in my commute hardly a mile away - the soothe descends. A few minutes' walk and we are out of earshot of the cars, out of sight of the houses: in the woods. The overcast, drizzly light turns the new growth almost florescent, and the dark feathery pines behind lend a sense of depth and stability what might otherwise feel a riot. Flowers everywhere: trillium, Solomon's seal true and false, yellow and traditional violets, a hundred tiny white blossoms, bouquets of scarlet columbine with pure sunshine inside. Even the sky seemed to ache with stillness and beauty. At the overlook, the lake spread out soft and grey, light mist between us and the far shore.

This afternoon, the rest of the garden went in: tomatoes and corn, basil and cilantro, peas, cucumbers, marigolds. The Brussels sprouts and the lettuce took off this week, and the carrots are on to real leaves. The potatoes and nasturtiums are up, though the chamomile doesn't want to show its face. And the slow, drizzling sky covers all.

Friday was my last day of work; I am once again amongst the ranks of the unemployed. So far it's nothing but a relief. Though when I'll finish my book on tape, I don't know.