The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light onto tender greens. The lichen observes the rabbit, and waits. And the trees listen. The last chilly breeze means nothing to the wing of the robin. Poised, she sings.  

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May 1st

When I woke up this morning, the bright light was already streaming through my window.  It was May 1st alright, and about time that spring had arrived in my part of the world.  April was a lot colder than it usually is, and you could tell as much by the slow, slow budding of trees […]

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