Spring Fever

Spring in our little corner of the world arrives in most the same manner each year. It usually takes place around midday on a weekend: The previous evening I go to bed, snuggling under my duvet, relishing in its soft, warm comfort, having struggled through a blizzard, feeling colder than even some of the deep frozen grocery I've just purchased. The next the morning, still half a sleep, I put on the kettle, light a fire and the usual umpteen candle lights and settle down with whatever I'm up, or in to.

After a while, on an impulse, I look up, noticing the sun shining outside.  I set down my cup of tea, tentatively opening the window and feel an unexpected, but vaguely recognizable warmth on my skin. I realize that the bird twittering I've been hearing is not coming from the radio, but is actually made by  birds fervently shake-rattle-and-rolling their hips and feathers, singing their little hearts out in their effort to get a potential mate's attention.

Dazed, I get up, open the door to the patio and step outside: Oh What a Beautiful Morning!, What a Wonderful World! Spring and bird Love is in The Air! and I Feel Fine! The only thing.... 

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