Spring has come to upstate NY - glorious in it's rain showers, emerging buds, green just bursting from everything and all the delicate spring flowers everywhere. Some day I will learn what they each are.
I saw a poem yesterday -- well, not exactly a poem as it wasn't written. It was a picture that should be a poem. Purple flip flops in the grass -- kicked off by the exuberant feet of my daughter as she soared into the blue May sky on a swing. She's almost 11 and the sight was so precious it hurt to watch. I was so aware of the dwindling time she will spend on that swing set. The one where we've spent so many hours - singing and swinging. I could almost hear the cadence of the poem that would go with that sight - can't you?