Tracked down the last of 748 footnotes this morn.
(In Quincy Adams’s diaries)
Bought a white chocolate-pumpkin scone on the way home
Seventy-nine degrees–a thermometric record
We stood over the first violets of the spring as I read N.P. Willis’s “April”
(“I love to go in the capricious days of April and hunt violets”)
Then Gretel said, “Dad, let’s play catch.”
This perfect day!