It's one of those mornings: cloudy, windy, heavy. Through the waving grass and knocking branches, bird songs come, carried on the wind. Moss creeps down stone steps. Hydrangeas, awake after their long sleep, yawn and stretch out leaves. Herbs sway. And in the strawberry patch, the first berry ripens- a perfect, storybook kind of berry, almost too perfect to be real.
Welcome, spring. It's good to see you at last.