February 26, 2003
Last day is restless and wistful and poignant, and never long enough. It begins with a reluctance to even acknowledge the day is under way, and an attempt to make the perfect maximize-each-minute plan (that changes with the hours). We lunch at the Indian restaurant, stopping afterward to buy things for the house, as though one of us wasn’t leaving. Then back to Volunteer Park to take pictures of massed daffodils, but they’re just beginning to open, so I feed my need inside the conservatory, photographing bromeliads and caged orchids that look the way I feel when our lips touch.