My dearest, up in the aerie, the sun is shining, and I'm in far better spirits this afternoon than I was yesterday at this hour. I think the weather got to me yesterday. It had been gray all day and after all the encouraging springlike advances it seemed that we'd been mercilessly thrust back to February with yet another snowstorm. But the bark was worse than the bite; several inches had been forecast, but by morning we'd gotten no more than half an inch, though that of course didn't stop the plows from coming through. I woke around dawn when I heard the thundering of a lowflying jet and thought groggily, I thought Kirsten had moved, plus it's Thursday, isn't she in D.C. - no, it was the Little Town's Finest, vigilant road-crew division.

The morning was iffy and cold, but by afternoon the sun broke through, the temperature warmed and whatever had fallen overnight had melted. I took a walk in the afternoon. The creek rushed with whitewater caps and the teeming waters along its serpentine length glowed an acid hue of silver green that put me in mind of Whistler's precisely atmospheric palette.

Ah perfume...

My dearest - good night to you too - are you as excited as I am? I am - very. I have the benefit of being familiar with the surroundings, I suppose, but it's okay - you will be at home within five minutes - I promise.

Very many kisses, my love, sleep tight.