Spring

The squalling of the birds was the first thing she noticed as she stepped outside the door. It was a large,black, maddening mass of birds in the backyard tree.

"Birds," she thought to herself. "I'd forgotten about the birds."

They were all around her now, 3 robins in her neighbors tree, Mourning Doves on the roof peak, sparrows and wrens fighting it out for seeds at the feeder.

It had been a long winter. Not a winter of snow and cold and Christmas and sledding, rather one full of plain, dull, frozen-grey days. The clouds seemed to have settled into place months ago, never giving up any bright, clean snow, just blocking out the sun and its light, its warmth. It seemed as if the clouds had taken up permanent place in the sky and in her mind, her heart.

Today, though, today the birds were back, alive and singing, racing from tree to tree, branch to branch, yard to sky. Their happy noises filled the air and spots of feathered orange, red, shimmery green and blue danced through the sky. At her feet, the tulip bulbs had just thrust out their brave, thin leaves through the half-thawed brown muck.

She breathed in the electric-cold air and smiled again for the first time in weeks, in months. It smelled of spring.
It smelled of hope.