Spring is springing here.
It is beautiful.
Deep green blades of grass more ambitious than their still-dead, still-yellow colleagues begin to pop up everywhere. I don't have to mow you yet. Yet. Just wait until they join you. Tell them not to be in a rush, though.
For some reason the songs of some of the birds keep reminding me of waking up in the spring or summer mornings at my grandmother's after staying over. Maybe the same birds hang out in my town that hang out in hers or something. I heard plenty of birds down at my mom's house, the house where I grew up, but maybe they were different kinds.
That's the definitive sign of spring for me. Those birds. I need somebody who knows a lot more about birds to tell me which species they are.
Oh and it's warmer. But you knew that.
That's all.