Meanwhile, the sun shines.

Here's a poem by the US poet Maya Stein. Posted here to celebrate today's view from my kitchen window.

Tulips

How much, some days, you just want to bury your head
under the duvet, that great, billowy cloud
of total, beautiful anonymity. Imagining
you could take breakfast there, and the pile
                  of mail to go through,
your backlog of magazines.

Inches away, on their last morning, the tulips
are waking up to the very edge of themselves,
unwrapping their petals shamelessly against the sun,
bending towards the light in great, voluptuous bursts
of orange.