I have felt the first stirrings of spring. Winter is nowhere near being done with us yet, snatching away yesterday’s balmy warmth with yet another cold, arctic blast last night, and I am still trying to get caught up with what winter hath already wrought, but I have felt them.
I’ve heard them, too, those sweet trillings of warmer things to come, but it is much too early for peepers and wood frogs and red-winged black birds among the willows. What I have been hearing is the gosh darn phone.
The View from Fish in a Barrel Pond 