This morning I took a walk in the garden, under cloudy skies. Nothing was blooming, but I saw a pansy with a soft roll of purple, almost ready to open. I saw the swollen golden buds of crocus and a dark purple iris still encased in it's celadon sheath. As I walked, fat drops of rain fell across the garden slates.
A steady rain fell softly but insistently for quite some time, urging the on-again/off-again creek to flow. After dinner, I took a pair of scissors and headed to the garden with the intent to cut away some of the dry brown evidence of winter. In the garden, I found the first blooms of spring: two crocus, a pansy and a tiny iris. Each had unfurled in the warmth after the rain.
The boys have been playing amid the cattails all afternoon, while down by the lake the seagulls are screaming in wild joy over the arrival of spring. They are not musical at all, but they are loud and exuberant and they have a really good point: "Hurrah! Hurrah! It's Spring!"