Down in the woods behind our house, along the swampy forest edge, we go searching for our favorite harbinger of spring.
The world is still painted in shades of brown down here, and it is not difficult to spot the delicate beads of fuzz illuminated in afternoon light.
Each girl chooses a small branch, following the contours of buds with her finger tips . . . drinking in the silky softness. She compare branches with her sister: little kitty sizes, shapes, texture.
In moments like this, I do believe the tiny gifts of new life are the very best gifts of all. So simple. So generous. So complete.
This is our spring.