My garden, my solace, my source and my sanctuary, is beginning to flower a little more everyday. There are lots of snowdrops and violets. The primroses and daffodils are in bud. I have a few clumps of hellebore and aconites. And the first blossom on the early cherry plum is opening in today's sunshine. Flowers are balm for the heart. And year in year out they follow a similar cycle from which I get a sense of the infinite, of the on and on, and round and round, of the smallness of being and the greatness of being, of a continuum in which I am as important and unimportant as any other being, flora or fauna. I like that thought very much.