A variation on Hemingway: in the spring the world was still there, but we did not go to it any more. Sun plays peekaboo as I stand in the Trader Joe’s parking lot waiting my turn to go inside and do the week’s shopping. Strangely mellow and cheerful inside with so few shoppers, each steering their cart like boats in a harbor avoiding any chance of collision. Chatted with a friend six feet away, knee-deep in the new normal. The world is too little with us; neither getting nor spending we lay waste our powers. Everyone buys daffodils, everyone waits.