Justin is boiling today, making syrup to be taken to Wyoming.
My windowsills are full of forced bulbs.
Real bulbs, outside, are starting to poke, dark pink, brown, and green out of the softening dirt and the few, tired, lumps of snow in the flower beds from where we shoveled snow this winter.
Awhile ago, someone was telling us about visiting an older couple who has very little--hardly enough to get by. The old man stood in the doorway to their dark little trailer and said "Ahhh, spring! I can feel the sap rising in me, like in the trees." And I feel it in me too. A bursting at the seams to get outside, to feel that sunshine on my face, to feel the dirt, cold and wet, to watch things growing, changing, reaching to the sunlight. And we all get to experience this richness of the seasons changing. Whoever we are, whatever we have.
It is spring.