On the beach, a sweet puppy named Townes, browned butter-colored with patches of white, a white heart on top of his head. "My boyfriend just learned to play Pancho and Lefty on his guitar," said the puppy's person. "That song makes me cry," I said, my eyes welling with tears.
I raked leaves all weekend, revealing sweet-smelling dirt and the surviving crocuses just barely peeking through the earth (the ones the squirrels didn't eat in the fall). A cluster of tiny green shoots had exploded with purple blossoms by the end of the day, like magic.
Someone in my elderly next door neighbor's house was playing the violin. I couldn't hear it, but I could see through the window.
I took off my jacket! Ate my lunch in the yard! Even made an afternoon iced coffee! Fifty-five fucking degrees!!
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