Morning Conversation

  "Spring! Spring is here," she said . . . well, shouted . . . almost proclaimed. Yes, she proclaimed that spring had arrived, intimating and positively stating that it was a good thing, an "at last, here we are, it's spring!"

"'A light exists in spring,'" she said, slightly louder, with renewed emphasis.

Still no response.

"Emily Dickinson," she said. "'A light exists in spring/not present on the year at any other period/when March is scarcely here.'"

"It's April," he said, (inadvertently letting her know he was listening.)

"Yes!" she said. "'It is an April morning fresh and clear . . .' Wordsworth."

"And the US will start refunding tariffs. $166 billion," he said and ruffled the newspaper, indicating . . . ? the significance of what he was reading?

"So, another good thing," she said. "Maybe spring made him do it."

He laughed, shook his head. "No, the administration is being sued."

"Poor man, "she said. "I bet he never looks outside, takes no joy in . . . in anything. But we, the two of us, have so much to be happy about. Right?"

He looked up then. She was glowing, smiling, happy to be here with him in their predictable morning back and forth, and knew she was right, again. He even admitted it. "Yes, we have so much to be happy about . . . especially me."

"And me," she said and they both went back to their reading, pleased with themselves . . . and each other . . . again.