Speak To Me

The clock said 5 a.m. this morning.  Funny, it felt more like 4.

The vernal equinox won't occur until March 20, but the hill is fairly shouting, "It's spring!"  Bright bouquets of daffodils dot the property in the most surprising places and none where they were originally planted.  I like them better this way.

Shy little Baby Blue Eyes are peeking out on the slope down to the barn, another sure sign of spring.  Visitors to the winery below might look up and see a line or two of laundry dancing on the breeze up here and realize it really is a sunny day, as hard as it is after such a long stretch of grey, wet days.

It takes real effort to force myself back into the house once outside so I did a little more deadheading in what is laughingly called the rock garden yesterday.  I wish I had a nickel for every dollar I've spent over years on plants, seeds, and bulbs in that area to no avail.  The only thing growing there is moss on the granite rocks.

Farm and wildlife also speak of spring.  The girls are cycling again.  "Unh, unh, unh."  The Rod-RI-go birds (quail) are calling for their lost lovers.  Shaddup yells continually with that irritating yip as he stands lookout from the safety of the juniper bush.  Even the turkeys have added "Tok, tok, tok" to their vocabulary.

No other sign is needed that the seasons have changed than the boxed-up Christmas tree.  I delivered the last of the presents to Pete and so that holiday is officially over.

It's spring.