birdsong

Mmmmmm... yummy. I know Spring is ready to burst into full bloom when I wake up to birdsong for the first time. Is there a more delightful, delicious sound after the bleak, heavy shushing of Winter? Yes, I do love the arrival of birdsong, the first sighting of Mr. Robin Redbreast, the powdery floral scent of emerging apple blossoms, the brave tiny buds daring to poke their little peepers out of the earth.

Luciya plucked one of these little flower heads the other day and brought it to me.


It was so tiny, and the act was so endearing, and you know me, all sentimental about everything, and needing to record every First... Well, this was the first time my little girl has picked a flower for me.

I used to do that for my mom all the time. And she was always very gracious about receiving my little gifts, which were usually frayed yellow dandelions from the front yard, and which I'd hold behind my back until I was ready to present them with a flourish and a shy, proud smile.

Don't think I didn't keep that teeny yellow blossom.

And then... then. Then I remembered it's April in Idaho, and a few days later we woke up to this.


How do you feel about that, Luciya?


And what about you, Little Mirabel?

Oh, poor little Red Eye. Are you so sick of me having to scrape away the crusty tear duct goop every day? Some mornings your poor eyes are so smeared over, you can't open them! This will clear up, along with your thrush, by the time you're 15. I just know it.

And Spring will hold fast, if even for a brief, petally exhale into Summer. And we'll enjoy those sweet opportunities to get out of the house again, and I'll glance up out the window and see my lovely little family surveying the land.

Welcome back, Spring. Take your shoes off. Hang around a little while. Keep on singing.