There may be leftover pasta. Leftover fattoush and roasted potatoes and fruit. Leftover brie-and-blue, and leftover crackers. Leftover whipped cream, cookies, angel food cake.
The house may still be clean, the lawn may still be mowed.
The wooden beads may be mixed in with the wooden blocks, and there may be a stray pistachio shell or two on the floor.
The kitchen table may still be bare. The summer table with its umbrella sits under the cherry tree.
The Sunday paper may not be fully read.
There is doubtless still grading to do, but less and less.
The back door may still be open, and the breeze that ends April and welcomes May breathes and breathes.