January 8, 2014

A day came to mind as I woke up this morning. I was 7 and we’d moved onto a farm in Michigan. Maybe it wasn’t the first warm spring day but it was special. The grass was greening and even though the grounds was still cold it was warm enough to kick off my shoes and socks. The wonderful smell of the first blossoms drifted by from the orchard and I ran down to climb a pear tree to bask in their beauty and the early sun. Later I went to our swing hung in a huge old maple and soared head back to revel in the bright, shining lime green only seen in new spring leaves. Down at the creek in the woods that afternoon–testing with my toes found it too cold to wade–I saw the first turtle sunning on a log. He and I shared the log, the delightful warmth and the song of the creek.