The cardinal is singing madly from on high, and the trees—at least some of them—are suddenly covered in tiny sprouting buds. The magnolia tree down the block has put forth blooms not yet (thank goodness) open, and the beautiful corner garden a block away has a full stand of blooming crocuses, the palest of lavenders striped with white.

In my garden, it’s the tiger lilies that have won the race to emerge first from their winter shelter, poking just enough green up from the soil to claim the sunlight for their breakfast. The robins have grown quite loud, nearly drowning out the cardinal by proximity.

And, oh, the geese.

When I sat down to my desk this morning, coffee in hand and the windows still closed against 40-degree temperatures, I heard them—a cacophony of honks and hollers that raised my eyes skyward. I couldn’t see them from my desk chair, my field of vision narrowed to the width and height of side-by-side window panes (and those occluded by dog slobber). But visual creature though I am, I didn’t need to see the geese. They were unmistakable, flying high above my house, calling of spring.

And so I found myself after work sitting on my porch with book in hand for the first time this season, waving to the dog walkers and watching last season’s spent hydrangeas quiver in the breeze. My seed packets arrived by mail two weeks ago and will go into peat pots indoors as soon as I buy bleach to clean the starter trays. Then I’ll put them in a sunny window, keep them moist, and check them daily, eagerly, awaiting their precious sprouts.

It might be winter again tomorrow, or next weekend. Almost certainly it will snow again before summer arrives. But today it’s spring. And that is enough.

Gratitude is easier some days than others

Today is one of the easy days, when I’m grateful for many things. Including these:

• Sunshine
• Spring warmth
• Geese high overhead, chattering