“Spring has sprung, the grass is riz; I wonder where all them flars is.”
I learned that little goofy poem from my brother years ago. It’s still as silly as always. And I still let no Spring sneak past without reciting it.
I woke up in the predawn darkness thinking, “This is for the birds.”
Every imaginable beak was wide open, from cardinals’ arias to crows yelling across the street, wanting to know the caws of the ruckus.
There’s nothing like greeting sunrise with a fresh, hot cup of java, enjoying some quiet time in The Word to the serenade of one of God’s finest all-volunteer feathered choirs. The only voice I miss from my growing-up years is that of the red-wing blackbird.
May you find smiles and a reason for innocent fun today, my friends. It is once again Spring!
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
© D. Dean Boone, March 2017