March is a long month in New England, usually starts out in real winter and then a few starts and stops with false spring but then it really kicks off with a lot of mud, then finally a hint of REAL spring, the world waking back up from it’s winter nap (and then maybe a bit more mud).

The song birds wait for the sun and kick off the chorus that begins and ends each day. The light changes, it’s brighter and the trees get feathery at the end, leaves thinking about unfurling. Hope does actually spring eternal, everyone.

I took a walk yesterday, up a hill and along a river, in the pale sunshine and felt that little springtime lift people who live around here feel, the idea that maybe the hermit times are ending, that maybe windows cans stay open and jackets can be packed away. Just like the green shoots under the mulch, my soul stretched a bit and felt a flutter.

And with a smile on my face, as I stopped by the river, a tiny purple plastic egg caught my eye.

So many questions, where did this come from? who is it for? It looks fresh and not like an egg that had wintered in this log. I left it there and wished it well.

A tiny bit of wonder in the waking up world.