Almost as though a wand was waved, I sat upon the Writer’s Perch this noon and noted a nearly overnight change in the landscape. The pastures and paddocks are suddenly awash in greenery. The surrounding woods make a valiant attempt to bud their leaves.

The Weeping Willow now undulates with a mild breeze. The pond’s surface ripples in agreement.

Spring leaves little question that it is here. Anyone still harboring doubt need only peel an ear to the distance. A turkey gobbles as if to make the official decree. A Phoebe renders a humbler accolade.

As if not to be outdone, a peeper joins in . It yet needs to find its rhythm, but that will come when joined by others. Today it strikes but the initial chord, a leader among its peeper peers. Soon, at later dusks, the woods will be aloud with them.

Spring intones the subtlety of its season . The world is well.


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