The chorus of birdsong starts up every morning around 5 AM. It’s loud enough to wake me up until I close the window and, yawning, fall back to sleep. The backyard is becoming more lush with every passing day—purple day lilies bloom beside the raised beds and a climbing bush with flowers the delicate blush pink of the inside of a seashell has taken over the back corner of the fence. The smell of fresh mint (which grows rampant among the flower beds) and just-cut grass hangs in the air. Bright green hydrangea bushes are poised for their moment, the buds tightly curled still like tiny closed fists. But I know what splendor lies within—violent bursts of color that erupt suddenly in late June like fireworks.

I biked to the beach this morning, getting there early enough to be the only one in sight. The day was still brand new, existing in that tenuous and delicate state of creating itself anew, before it has declared what it will be: sunny and hot or warm and breezy or cloudy and persistently gray. This beach—my beach—is rocky and wide, stretching for miles in both directions before twisting and turning to hide itself behind the far-off sandy cliffs of Orient Point.

Let me preface this entire post by saying in an official capacity as a responsible human being (and employee of a flour company): DO NOT EAT RAW COOKIE DOUGH. But in my unofficial capacity as a real human being with thoughts and feelings and tastebuds: raw cookie dough is an unparalleled delicacy and should be awarded seventeen Michelin stars, if that were a thing.

When you hear Valentine’s Day, do you groan inwardly? Do you shrug your shoulders when people ask how you’re celebrating, caustically saying that it’s a cheesy holiday anyway, and you and your [insert someone you like holding hands with] aren’t really “into the whole thing”?

Okay, look I get it. And yet, I always detect a touch of wistfulness to those comments. I mean, let’s level with each other here (it’s just us! we’re all friends here!), who doesn’t like to be surprised or showered with a little more love than on a usual Friday?