We spent our Sunday talking about fertility symbols, what Easter is all about for Christians, eating chocolate eggs, and painting the front porch. I turned over a bed for my cilantro and and peas and sowed alyssum and snapdragon seeds. I gathered the hair from our brushes and put it out for the birds, rehung the purple birdhouse our son made and yelped quite loudly when I dug up a sleeping baby brown snake. The small people spent the day giggling and playing in that harmonious state of imaginary play that makes mamas and papas smile at each other with deep satisfaction. It was a great day.

Yep, life is clipping along and it feels good. We haven't spotted Percy the groundhog yet but I continue to fret over what to do about the voracious  rodent and her offspring. Last year, most of gardening endeavors were digested by Percy and the bunnies. The wild turkeys haven't appeared yet. I forgot to write down when we first saw mama turkey and babies last year. I won't forget this year!

This year, I am trying to be more tolerant of the wild black berries that took up residence in the middle of my herb garden. That area will hence forward be known as THE blackberry patch. Actually, we have two. One on either side of the house. They have also decided to intermingle with the grapevines that adorn  great lengths of our chain link fence.  I will tolerate the prickly canes for the sake of purple stained fingers and because the turkeys love them so.

Last week my son asked me why spring is the shortest season. I explained to him that all of the seasons are of equal length but he didn't believe me and neither did I. 

Perhaps it is because spring is fraught with anticipation, smells, hopes, dreams, life, color, dirty hands and warm shoulders and it is all just too intense to last any longer than it does.