Just the other day I counted 54 robins in the backyard. That's right. 54. I tried my best to be precise, but they scurried and danced and skipped all over the place, making my eyes strain and probably resulting in an errant conclusion. But, none-the-less, they were everywhere, practically taking over the lawns and landscapes of the neighborhood.
And then the snow fell. And some icy rain. And some pretty harsh winds screeched through the air.
I always find myself in a state of disbelief over the change from winter to spring. To me, it always appears so severe. The other seasons tend to blend into one another, offering plenty of time for nature's creatures to adjust and prepare. But spring- humm... spring is like running into your ex when you look like hell, and then assuming that it couldn't ever happen again, only to have it happen over and over.
Perhaps it's my sensitive heart, but I always worry about the animals and budding plants during this unkind transition. How anything can survive the multiple personalities of Spring continually amazes me. But, perhaps even more amazing, is the notion that not only do things survive, they flourish-- emerging into bright green leaves, lush ground coverings, plump birds and vibrant blossoms.