Luxury itself, thick as a Persian carpet, honey fills the jar with the concentrated sweetness of countless thefts, the blossoms bereft, the hive destitute. Though my debts are heavy honey would pay them all. Honey heals, honey mends. A spoon takes more than it can hold without reproach. A knife plunges deep, but does no injury. Honey moves with intense deliberation. Between one drop and the next forty lean years pass in a distant desert. What one generation labored for another receives, and yet another gives thanks. – Posted from my iPhone in bed. Listening to the wind.

Because my daughter’s eighth-grade teachers Are having what is called an “in-service day,” Which means, in fact, an out-of-service day, She is spending this Friday home with me, So I get up in time to take us, On this summery day in March, For a light lunch at a legendary café Near the Yacht Marina. Then we feed some ducks before catching The cheap early-bird showing of My Cousin Vinny, at which we share a Dessert of a box of Milk Duds large Enough to last us the entire show. Afterwards we drive to a shoe-store to Get her the Birkenstocks she’s been coveting, But they’re out of her size…