I had assumed that here in New Engand, we were in never-ending winter. I have gotten used to slipping on ice, looking for my snow boots, and ruminating on the color grey - which is what the sky always is, around here.
I had accepted my post-apocalyptic world, a world Kevin Costner could perhaps make a bad movie about - and also had accepted a life of big sweaters, by-now-grungy mittens, and loads of diet hot cocoa. (Note: what's the point of this product?)
And suddenly, my viewpoint was turned on it's axis - I saw a group of tiny birds, just like the ones in this picture, sitting and eating berries from one of my shrubs, a shrub that is grossly deformed from the snow that has covered it for months, and is now in the shape of a banana. I knocked on the window excitedly, just to say hello.
They cocked their heads in that adorable, bird-like, warm-weather way, and then kept eating. Not deterred, I gathered up the hem of my flannel "Little House on the Prairie" granny gown and flew to the front door, and then through it. I ran to the shrub, meaning to hug the birds in a gesture of welcome and gratitude for their message of spring.
Note: birds do not like to be hugged. At all.
Anyhoo - like the Who's down in Who-ville, I want to say: Welcome, Spring! Ya-who-door-ay! (Or whatever it is that those Who's are trying to say!)
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