Today I discovered that if, when I leave Butternut’s daycare on my bike I start Gounod’s Faust, I will hit Peninsula Park just as Faust and Mephistopheles sing “A Moi Les Plaisirs.” The park was its usual wonderful morning self, joggers and dog walkers relatively quiet among the tall trees and gorgeous roses before the children descend.

The ride was lovely — just the fact that we got out of the house in the bike was a triumph. At that point of the ride, I am without Boy, nearing home and getting off of the main thoroughfare, so it’s easier to relax. The weather was cool enough for a sweatshirt, but warm enough that I wanted sandals. I smiled goof-ily as I rode by, filled with joy even as I was wishing that I did not need both hands to steer and feeling torn by the desire to hear those beautiful voices fully and to join them in their singing.

A handmade sign tempted me to join the call for volunteers to help deadhead the roses this morning — a temptation broken by my eagerness to return home and finish a job application. I was delighted to glimpse an airplane without its wings. It looked in beater-car shape, covered in primer, waiting for the hobbyist to have enough money and time to finish the project.