The air is my excuse for being scattered. It blows in and brings things unseen, unbidden, but too real in their effect on my thinking to go unnoticed or unaccounted. I watched a woman sit in her car in the parking lot yesterday staring out her side window. She was unmoving in her space and I wondered how many times I might have done the same thing. Rather than fret about it, my thoughts fluttered to the dew scattering on the grass like a field of diamonds, then to the scrappy little purple flowers that are a tangle in my front flower bed. I leave them because the truth is they are really quite beautiful. My mother's voice wafts across my morning shadow, "Does this outfit make me look fat?” I risk an impromptu family photo with Lily while "I am a pear whatever I wear" sings in my mind. Is it the air or the month of March that whisks my thoughts from present to past to future, from fields of diamonds to gardens of weeds to physical age transformations to absurd song revelations? It happens every year. These zephyrs of my mind start another beautiful day.