The Hope of Spring

When Andrew was 4, he attended what was then called "nursery school" on weekday mornings. One memorable day he emerged at pick-up time bearing a sheet of pale blue construction paper on which there were some random brown vertical lines and on them bits of yellow tissue paper had been scrunched and pasted down. "This," he told me proudly, "is for-this-ee-ah." And I've always thought of it that way since.

It's not even two weeks since Groundhog Day, but the hope of spring is evident if I just look hard enough . . .

. . . at the for-this-ee-ah that Himself clipped and stuck in a vase on the kitchen counter last week. How welcome those wee yellow blooms were when they appeared yesterday morning!
. . . three of the prime real estate offerings in our bird house ghetto are occupied and two more may be under contract pending final negotiations. I was delighted to see three little heads peer out of me as I went to get in my car, and two more perched on roofs.
. . . daffodil shoots are now a couple of inches visible out back.
. . . five o'clock comes and goes and there is still daylight.

It's coming.