The sun blazes with such heat it's as though it just can't contain it any more. A soft breeze whispers through the trees which seem to suppress a giggle as though being tickled. There's the flapping of birds wings as they flit from branch to bird feeder and back again. Buds burst open, giving life to old limbs . . . . .
. . . . . and then the smell of wet grass fills the air and I continue to smile, for the rain is as much a part of Spring as the sun. I know it's story for I've heard it before . . . there's talk of green lushness, of growth, of new life, of all the wonderful things to come.
As I look to the clouds drifting lazily across the sky, witnesses to all the magic happening below, my grudge against Spring for arriving late is soon forgotten.