We are grateful now for the occurrence of any distractions that will take us briefly into the world of wonders that has been temporarily left behind in the void that suddenly appeared in our lives.  This morning, we saw out of the sliding glass doors leading to the deck, a slate-backed junco slaking its thirst in the tiny pools left on the deckboards from last night's rain.

We've seen the first of the colt's foot blooming in the ravine, and the first one of the many serviceberries has hurried into bloom.  And there are trout lilies aplenty, ready to bloom.  While it's yet early in the early spring season for all the new growth to push out several yellow lily heads were blooming among the hundreds yet to mature, when they glimpse the sun.

A steady, light-green haze is beginning to settle over the trees and the shrubs in the ravine.  Suddenly, as though representing an overnight after-thought, trilliums are beginning to make their presence known, their drooping flower heads not quite prepared to open, but the promise is nigh. 

And we are, as every spring, grateful for those promises, they speak of the emergence of new life overtaking the old, and give hope for the future.