Springtime Gratefuls

Every morning I drive over the ocean. The ferries and barges glide over the sparkling water. Birds drop clam shells onto the rocks, forcing them to open for their meals.  Cormorants stand on ancient pilings, their wings held out to the wind to dry. Small black and white ducks bob on the ripples. Clouds decide daily which magnificent scene they will paint across the sky, and I drive under them, over the ocean, every day.

It snowed today, the third day of spring. I love the fat, graceful flakes as they drift to the ground, such mesmerizing weather, the trees soon coated like frosted mini wheats.

Two crocus bloomed in the yard, not two feet away from the snow that slowly recedes from the lawn. One purple, one white, proudly opening by the house.  I'd looked for them before today, but thought it would be impossible for them to force their way through dead leaves and hardened snow. Ta dah! They shouted.

Birds come to my feeder. Cardinals too large, him waiting for his bride to eat before he takes his turn, titmice, finches still in their dingy winter costumes, nuthatches, timid chickadees, bluejay bullies. I watch them from my living room.

While I don't really enjoy bringing the garbage and recycling to the curb during those early morning moments, I do enjoy the sounds around me in early spring, the tens of different bird songs, all those trills and tweets, while I drag the bins out to the street and the quarter moon watches before leaving the sky.

The ducks in the pond, back for spring.  I love the one who laughs at his own jokes.  That one duck guy over there tells a story that only he himself finds amusing, so he laughs wildly and his companions ignore him and roll their eyes at one another.

I drove to Clearwater Drive tonight, cracked my windows a bit, and the sound grew louder. Peepers. I shut off my car and listened with the windows rolled down all the way now, and thought about how I'd taken the girls to hear them each year. Now just me tonight, listening, surrounded by spring.

I raked today.  Under the slimy brown leaves left from last year were the chives and the daffodils, the leaves promising summer's day lilies, the lady’s mantle, and the dark fragile lacy leaves of the forget-me-nots.  

The Crayola color of the first spring buds. The trees turned that shade overnight, a page in the coloring book of spring.