Spring always surprises me. I walk between the patches of snow still clinging to the ground and marvel at the life peeking through the earth.

‘Is it time?’, they whisper.

‘Not yet,’ comes my reply. ‘Wait two or three more weeks for the Earth to turn her eager face to the sun a bit more.’

But do they listen to me? Nope. Thinking they know best, they push up into the still frigid air. Ha, they’ll get a wake-up call when Old Man Winter breathes on them one more time before he heads on his way.

Okay, I’ll admit it–plants and animals know more than me. They know when it’s time to sprout…

… and when it’s time to form a mating bond.

I woke a few mornings ago to the liquid trill of a White-throated sparrow. His song sounded like spring itself, announcing her arrival.

Although, I continue to believe the best sound to announce spring are the peeps of spring peppers. As Margaret Wise Brown wrote in her children’s book Pussy Willow: “When the peepers peep, then it is Spring”

A flock of robins came through my yard a little over a month ago. A day of cheerful chatter as they cleaned out every last berry on my viburnum bush and winterberry branches.

Dozens of red breasts flashed in the sunlight and then, poof, they were gone, off to some other location where the berries were plentiful. Soon they’ll return, hungry for the fat worms stirring within the ground.

Spring in New England is not as lush as some southern locations. I’m sure spring sees gardeners in Georgia sitting amongst their hydrangeas as the hummingbirds zip by. (Damn, I would love for my hydrangeas to be this lush. Perhaps I should move to Georgia.)

No matter. Spring in my little corner of the Concord River offers its own brand of beauty. The blush of the rising sun is mine to command.

The Mute swans dance just for me.

The eagle carries me on his wings and we soar over the river.

Yes, spring in my world is full of beauty. And at night, in the silver cast of the moon, I fall asleep to an owl’s lullaby.

And…surprise! Here they come.

Blessed be :}

Mi manchi, mia amata immortale.