In horto...

Fortunately it his hard to maintain existential panic levels when the following two days (that is, the past two days) are as pre-spring-y as you could desire, and you have all day to muck about in the garden. Which is what I did.

The sun was shining, and though it was still cool in the shade and there were hard gusts of wind every now and then, it was perfectly nice t-shirt weather as long as I stayed in the light. A varying number of buzzards was circling overhead, occasionally piercing the air with cries for (I like to think) the sheer joy of it. Every now and then, the cats dropped by for some cuddling, although mostly they just dozed on a bed of gravel and old leaves. Across the road, the three new lambs that were born in the past weeks played something that looked like tag, sometimes falling over their own feet, sometimes bouncing around randomly, sometimes stopping to harrass their poor mothers for milk, their tiny tails wagging overenthusiastically all the time. I had to save five toads from the old (empty) trough in our yard; they had such beautiful copper eyes. The finches and titmice were holding a singing contest. And because the valley apparently knows my secret buttons, for a while the sound of hammer on anvil came ringing down from the stables further up the hill.

So I could not possibly remain angsty and angry.

Today it is disgustingly cold and grey and misty, but as I've had two days to up my contentment levels, I'm ok with that. My hands and shoulders can use some time to regenerate, anyway. So now I'm preparing the birthday present for my mum. Well, no, now I'm typing this, but afterwards I'll return to making that gift.

And for the time being, life is good.
(As long as I avoid the news channels. At least my aunt Emmi, and one of my Japanese uncles, have by now managed to call and announce that they are alive and well. Which is also good.)