70. The world spins. I sit at my computer and contemplate my life. My one, beautiful life, as Mary Oliver said. I feel the sun, so fleetingly appearing, warm my face. And I write. Drivel and meaningful phrases. Like my life, sometimes in the rhythm. Sometimes the days pass and nothing feels quite right, and then I feel insignificant, underutilized, under achieved. I look out at the emerging garden, beginning to push through the cold, wet ground. And I smile.