Green Deprivation

About this time every year I start circling my yard, looking for signs of life.  Miss Kitty follows, squeaking her tennis ball.  Chester walks with his head near my hand, hoping for an ear rub.

I notice the oak leaves crowded under the roses; the detritus of last years’ vegetable garden; the new gopher tunnels, like veins, meandering under the bird feeders; I wonder, again, what I’m going to do about the Bermuda grass infestation in the iris bed.

And then I hear it.  A cardinal trills its spring song.  And my mind turns a corner.  Winter is loosing its grip.  Spring is near.  Near.

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