Herald of Spring...

The ground is still covered with dirty snow, and the walk from the house to the chicken coop is nearly impassible due to ice, but there are flashes of color here and there and the air is beginning to resonate with bird song. One early color is that of the Robin's, that arrive far before I think they should, when there is little in the way of food to sustain them until mating season. They look miserable as they huddle in the branches of fruit trees, nibbling on last seasons dry and wrinkled fruit. But soon, soon, the gardens will be full of grubs and worms and the Robin's will lay nests of eggs that reflect the sky. In New England color creeps back onto the landscape in tiny increments. I greet each small promise of spring as it comes, from the tulip leaves poking up under the crab apple to the rosy blush on the uppermost branches of the birch trees.

Indoors I still stoke the wood stove with solid oak and maple, and curl up under a quilt on the sofa, but soon I'll throw the windows open wide and warm air will disturb lace curtains. Loons will return to call on the lake, I'll paddle my kayak on ripple mark waters and embrace the warm days of the next season on my life.