Early March

I am back in the sun room, sitting before an open window, enacting -perhaps prematurely- a rite of spring.  The snow of the weekend has ceded to sun-tempered breezes, drawing us to a nook not as frequented during the cold months.

But here we are, sun-dappled, our senses alive to the outdoors.  The low lying evergreen, just below the window, does its tremulous dance from last spring -although I know it has danced unabated in my absence.

It is as if we had never left.  The cats are in their warm-weather roost, I am in my chair, steeped in the familiar -colored with the present.