The cat asked to go out after showing patience for a good part of the winter. "Time to chew on some weeds," he stared, the grassy remnants of last year's crop reflecting from the deck pot through the glass door into his face. A gift of sorts because had I not opened the door I might have missed the cacophony of birds filling the green way, beyond excited because . . .
Sue's crocus are back, old friends with golden hearts who show up no matter what.