If there is a bliss more complete than that offered by a Sunday in spring, I want no part of it. For surely it would make me its thrall, and I would spend my tormented days always thirsting for more, as did Gollum for the One Ring. So I shall take my pleasures as they are, simple and common though they may be. And chief among them is a day like today, featuring games of Wiffle Ball, and wagon rides down precarious hills, and sidewalk chalk art, and spreading The Sunday Times out on the floor to savor, and wrestling children on that same floor while trying to pretend I’m still reading the paper, and the procurement of new lawn furniture, and the enthusiastic use of such lawn furniture, and quiet conversation with a smart lady about all manner of things. The cold has departed, the heat has not yet arrived. Magnificence.