It's true: at this time of year, I get what might be called inordinately focused on flowers. The trees are going now, one kind at a time: the maples, the tulip magnolias, the redbuds, the willows, the dogwoods, the beeches. On the other side of the world, willows I love have long had their leaves; in mere weeks, the wisteria will perfume the streets across from the grocery; chestnut candles will bloom out pink and white all over town.
In the waning hours of the weekend, the smell of baking fills my apartment. Once the dishes were all done earlier, it seemed ill-advised not to use the kitchen for something useful. And so I am stocking up for the week: the espresso pot cleaned and readied for the morning, the cafe au lait bowl perched at the ready, the banana bread rising in the oven. This week, I tell myself, will be the week I not only stay on the task but know what the task is.