Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water

Spring has been a little slow arriving.


It's a cliche, but no less, true: It's always darkest before the dawn.



It's the smiles of others that can bring you around. (Particularly if you're out for Woodcock viewing)


The sweet face of my grand-niece, Katie - makes me smile.



The promise of spring is found in the humblest places.



My front yard ducks bring a smile.



Or a sweet niece and nephew lending a hand to their ma and pa.



There's always someone or something out there to help launch your spirits.


Sometimes all you need to do is lift your hat and look around.

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Curiouser and Curiouser

My Double Bloodroot

Seems I'm shifting gears rather sluggishly, this spring.
I was spurred to post today because a curious thing occurred. Someone read my letter to the editor in the Wall Street Journal and moved by my "uncommon common sense" - sent me a book. Now imagine that: $15.00 plus postage to a stranger.

It's Mark Cahill's One Heartbeat Away. The query on the back cover asks: Is that all there is? This life and nothing more? It's a call to come to faith.

Well. Having spent too many hours in the last two days, sending comments to all the venues covering the Aliza Shvarts horror - and wrestling with that grubby little cloud in my head . . . well, I found the timing rather interesting.

I know that a few of my blogging buddies are people of faith. I've envied them that certainty.

I've not dropped by any of your blogs, recently, and hope that you're all so busy 'springin' that I'm not missing too much. In following the Shvarts story I followed an eloquent statement to Julie's blog, A Work in Progress. I needed the respite.

Anyhoo. Wishing you sunshine and puddles of daffodils and magnolia petals drifting down into green green lawns. I've cracked the door. The air is soft.

UPDATE:

A couple of you inquired about my WSJ letter. I was compelled to respond to a March 26 front page article about the increasing violence in black funeral parlors: "Deadly Business: Violence Roils Black Funeral Parlors". It really made me nuts because it dodged some of the very real problems confronting the black community and tried to correlate violence in black funeral parlor to the the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq. Huh?

Here's the wee bit of my letter they printed in their April 3 Letters To The Editor section:

May I suggest that the experts take a look at the entertainment culture?
How can one seriously wring one’s hands about the killing and turn a blind eye to the insidious, pernicious message from the dark world of much of gangsta rap music? The eulogies will continue and the fear and blood will not abate as long as we avert our faces from the corrosive effect of that part of the black youth culture.

Re-emergence

The sun is back.



The Robins are back and singing despite the snow.


Two weeks ago I saw these tracks and knew my possum had stirred from under the shed.



Sure enough. There she is. Awwwww . . .(Really, she is there - just through the screen, beyond the dogwood trunks and drinking from the heated birdbath.)




My backyard ducks are back.



The Goldfinch's 'true colors' are re-emerging.



I shared my breakfast with the first fly of the season. He flew through my open car window as I relaxed in the local park.



That's Spring - sunshine and sitting on the porch to visit with newly emerged neighbors over a cup of coffee or a bit of toast. My license plates read: MI PORCH

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A Poem On Winter's Departure

Deer hooves left muddy splashes as they crossed the brook.



Tracks indicated that someone made it home to safety . . .



. . after a narrow escape






Leavings

With winter's leaving

we will not see as clearly

where the deer stepped across the brook,

where the rabbit spun

toward home.

We will not remember

so clearly

the ice that climbed the broken stalks

and sparkled from a tuft of fur.


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