The sky is clear and blue. Birds are chirping. Flowers are blooming. At night, the breeze carries the smell of them around to where I walk. The windows are open. It is warm enough for short sleeves. People in shorts and t-shirts play sports in the park. The farmer's market has two stands selling fresh strawberries. I bought a fennel bulb, dug up that morning not many miles away. The people smile warmly like the weather. I go back indoors, in the shadows of walls and ceiling, open the windows and type on my thesis concert pieces. The sound of George Bush's voice drowns out the birds.