Yesterday, I escaped again. This time to walk with another daughter, in an inner rather than an outer suburb —an old neighborhood with houses tucked into hillsides. The iris had popped there, and the dogwood and azaleas have bloomed longer than usual this year, thanks to cooler weather, so they were still in fine array. The flowering trees gave each house and yard the enchantment they deserved.

I’ve said this often (here and elsewhere), but the Washington, D.C., area is at its most beautiful in spring — and this year spring has lasted months.

This particular walk took us to the bluffs above the Potomac River, where we clambered on rocks and rain-slicked trails, through tunnels of foliage colored an eye-popping green. How lovely to be in that place in that moment. How good to have gotten out not once but twice (both for valid reasons, I feel I must add — for exercise and food drop-offs), to see a little more of the world that’s out there. It’s a good reminder, six weeks into quarantine, that it will all still be there when we emerge.