Here in the North East we had a misty, rainy morning. And the birds are returning. My eight year old daughter, Tess, ran outside with flushed cheeks and made me walk (with my eyes closed) around the side of the house to the place where the daffodils are blooming.
It's spring. And I can't help noticing that I must be doing something right with my own flowers... because they are able to appreciate the mourning doves, the loamy earth, and the impending bounty of blossoms.
Thank you universe. For your kind repetition and your patience as we groan through the end of each season forgetting that the journey is the gift.