The last few mornings when I have been out with the dogs, I have enjoyed the soft scent of milkweed from the field across the street. I must have known about this as a child, but taken it in subconsciously as part of the richness of summer. Now it is a welcome surprise, subtle like the pinkness of the flowers.

I made a more banal discovery a few days ago, while I was madly hunting through my office for a crossover cable, something I knew I had but need only once every couple of years. I was horrified to unearth a computer bag with a handful of unopened mail in it, dating from our house move in mid-December. The bills had been covered eventually, and the bank statement I was glad to see, but, oh dear, the Christmas card with a personal note in it, which I had obviously not acknowledged -- ouch. I will make amends to this dear friend, who will surely understand, but I will also renew my efforts to shed more stuff, more of the things that obscure what I value.