In a week when my meager savings took the same downward dive that everyone experienced and I learned that a bunch of specialists probably lied to me, having an extra day seemed like a mixed blessing.    I considered staying inside all day.  But the sun shimmered on the tender shoots of grass in the meadow.  The sky stretched its sweetest blue overhead.  Geese in their eternal formation soared past gentle wisps of clouds and glided into the fields of our island.  So I pulled on clean jeans, buckled my red Mary Janes, and straightened my news boy hat.  I took myself out to breakfast.  Then I used Leap Day to cast my vote in the primary and watch lion dancers celebrate the Year of the Rat in Isleton.

For no particular reason other than a desire to share the experience, I offer a gallery of a handful of the 206 largely unusable photographs.  I took these while leaning one hip on a large planter of succulents in front of the Wandering Gypsy in Isleton, California.

Judging from the rush of the Delta winds through the willows behind  my house, March intends to emerge like a lion herself.   Let us hope she eases into April like an innocent, peaceful lamb.

It’s the twenty-ninth day of the seventy-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.