Reaching down with burning fingers mother nature set fire to knotted buds. By noon pastel hues traced tree limbs where petals stretched under the first warm day of spring.

The season has been waiting, and already Lily and I have seen much of its early hints. Along stream banks and pooling shadows I see bloodroot and red trillium open. They are an early beauty, but brief. They are ephemeral, and die back to just their underground parts after a short bloom. Native oaks and tulip trees will never see the spotted reds and whites on the forest floor -- within their branches winter's dormant spell still lingers.

While the gods and goddesses write stories in the stars, warmth and light wipe away winter.