My windows are open. The first hints of spring are wafting through, a sunny breeze bearing the beginnings of new life. Jack and I open the back door, previously sealed from the winter cold, and bang through the screen door to the backyard. The lilacs are heavy with large, purple blossoms and big, old bumblebees are bobbing from bunch to bunch, burying themselves in the colorful bower. The grass is springing up in tall, brilliant patches, threatening to take over the yard by pure exuberance. We bury our toes in it. It's soft and alive and tickles our bare feet.
We find half a bird egg, of palest blue and spattered with brown speckles. Jack is in awe of it, holding it in his hands and threatening to crush it with his two-year-old wonder. We put the egg on the sill, anxious to show Daddy later.
The sun is so warm on our heads, spilling luxuriously over our matching brown hair. Jack runs from end to end of the yard, for the pure joy of it. He crouches over the dirt, spying a troop of ants, busily marching from here to there, and back yet again. Jack interrupts their monotony with his dump truck, the plastic treads diverting their insect march.
Spring has come again.
