No dawn show today.  Gray dirty white sky clouding the view.  But I know it is there, has happened.  Light reveals the day.  Despite tears and furrowed brows, truth is visible.  Just this stubborn pouting snotty addict that wants to run or hide or both.

“Change is freedom,” say the birches that were once straining through a wire fence.

Where the field is mowed, it is green.  Where unmowed, it is white, brown, tall, scraggly and brittle.  Trimmed or untrimmed–all good.  Old, young, green, brown, alive, dead, working, working.  “Work” what the freak is that anyway?

Perhaps the pollywogs are swimming swimming towards croaking singing and dying.  Keep swimming and singing they say.

Bright and brilliant!  The first red-winged blackbird bursts with a clarion call to spring!  Soars my heart to the top of the twisted reaching bare poplar branches where he sits singing out to a new love, renewed life, and creation.  Daring spring to burst out of bare branches.  Making the mud soft and supple, molding the new season.  The scout, the man, the trumpet call to creative action! 

I am warmed by his song to create more and more love of the Spirit always spring.  Always green within gray.  I happily tromp through the mud with my tough Christmas boots, as loving You keeps me warm and dry.  I am preprayered for the messy season and let my heart following the springing call to sing.