It ought to be nearly spring, but we had a sprinkle of snow last night. A bit like confectioner’s sugar over everything, or the fake snow you might see in Christmas dioramas. I bought yellow iris and they are unfolding slowly. So ready for spring. I spent Saturday morning weaving willow branches into the plastic fencing in the backyard. I’d like to get more. My head is full of visions for the small plot of yard back there. The weed-tree took a terrible beating over the winter and needs to be pruned. Right now, several main branches are broken and hanging on, good for neither squirrels or birds, or even me. What I envision: the tree pruned, full of spring and summer leaves, and lots of terra-cotta pots holding plantings of flower and herbs. Maybe something over that fence like honeysuckle or morning glory. Somewhere, roses, jasmine, basil. An umbrella, because the tree has lost its limbs. A small table. Barely enough room to move, but I can imagine reading out there, with chai. The sun is out. The birds are chirping. Is Disney around the corner?

My neighbor just came to visit, and reminded me about Daylight Savings Time next Sunday. “It will be lighter later, ” she said.

All day, it has been either stormy or sunny. There are wonderfully dark clouds hovering over the sunset tonight, but in between are the light madonna-blue skies. I wouldn’t mind a thunderstorm, being inside, being that it’s Friday. I worked on my book-in-progress, searching vainly for a plot. For the past few months, my work has been going strong, but where is it leading?

When I was seventeen and in India, studying at a Fine Arts program, I nearly failed our mid-year exam in watercolor. We were to take a word and recreate it on paper using art. By that I mean if I chose the word “Cloud” I had to render the word in letters painted to look like clouds. I chose “Flowers” but somehow I made the startling discovery that by mixing my colors, there were an infinite number of shades and hues to be had. I was having enormous fun, even though some Senior girls came by and said, “all very good, but you need to finish.” Finally, my teacher came by and said I had better start using what was already on my palette, repeating colors, as I would not be able to finish in time. My pride hurt, I became indifferent, slopping colors quickly, so the whole effort looked bipolar. I think I passed.

Returning to North America, I went back to being an English major.

My friend Di had a great slogan once: “We May Be Late But We Get It Done Right.”

My novel is ten years over due. I think that teacher was right, though. I need to use what is on my palette. Hopefully, it will get done right.