No less the sound. The winter quiet gives way to air that is abuzz. I watch the cruising of a red-tailed hawk. All kinds of birds announce their presence with exuberance, an olio of sound.
The feral cats down the way that I had written off as likely casualties of a mean winter frolic close to the woods, gaunt to be sure but defiant still.
Scampering squirrels sprint across the lawn and up a tree. These bushy-tailed rodents seem everywhere to me.
I contemplate removing my prized fig tree from its burlap swaddle. I reject the notion upon hearing a forecast of possible thunder snow.
