Today I saw gladiolus blossoms. The vegetable kingdom is going crazy. Mere brightness brings flowers, despite the continued cold. I saw a bee, too. It was crawling on the brick ledge alongside the front porch. I don't know if it had been injured, or was simply dying of hypothermia, but dying it clearly was. It wobbled about in a patch of sunlight, unable to fly, and finally fell from the ledge into the shade of a bush, where I could no longer see its struggles. Overhead, the sun illuminated the blindingly white ramparts of drifting clouds that decorated the blue sky. Nearby, the rain-fed moss covering the mulberry tree's trunk was plushy and deep green, and paler mosses carpeted the walkway leading to it, as they do in winter's depths. The contrasts of the day were too much for me. I retreated indoors and read a book until night fell and the sky was filled with stars. I have no tolerance for details these days. I desire the enveloping darkness, and the still air that says nothing.