As the sun rose higher above the horizon, glassy ice reminiscent of Sunday’s misty rain glistened on the trees in our neighborhood. I walked down the road to the mailbox and felt the wind biting my face as if to remind me it was really winter. To the north of the house, snow lay undisturbed, while to the south it had completely disappeared.
Work greedily gobbled up the day like Cookie Monster consuming a batch of freshly baked cookies. It was nearly sunset when I went outdoors again, but this time the wind was not biting, but caressing. Welcoming me to come outside, I obeyed and looked to the fading blue sky through the cottonwood trees beside the pond. A racquet of chatter from the tops of these silent giants drew my attention. The red-winged blackbirds had returned, and not just a few, but at least one hundred, cackling with glee as they boastfully flashed their red shoulders and yellow wing bars. The clouds became pink, as if to give one last bit of color to
