Good news is the spinner and I am a top made from red tin. Good news is deep breath, inhaled down past my heart. Good news agitates my stomach with clean air, like a washing machine turned on on a Saturday morning when I’m still in pajamas and have nowhere to be and nothing to do but read and drink cups of tea. It rushes out of my mouth like a jet stream. Good news is yellow tulips, just before they bloom. It’s a bowl of fruit warming on the kitchen counter. It’s clouds of gray fog rolling over Hoops Reservoir.