It was a beautiful day. 70 something and sort of breezy, sunny. The perfect day to go out and collect some wood ticks.

And look for green and on-the-brink-of-blooming things.

A couple more days of this and we’ll be in full blossom.

But all the years of searching for spring I know where to look for the earliest flowers and what trees turn green first.

The tops of hills where the sun is warmest.

Down under the tall grass where the dirt stays damp.

By the creek where the trees with the white trunks grow.

That’s the thing about this place. It has its secrets, it’s little tricks just waiting to be discovered with the seasons.

Every day looks different here. Every day the sky brings sun or clouds to cast shadows so that if you want to explore something, there’s something new to see.

But there’s nothing like the waking up season. The door is open to the house tonight and the frogs are singing and croaking in the dam. I would bottle it up if I could and save it for the winter when there’s not much sound but the howling wind.

Who would believe it now, that it was ever so white and cold?

I don’t.

I don’t believe it.

Not when we’re warming up so beautifully around here.

Not when it’s turning green right before my eyes.

And green’s my favorite color.