My husband swears he heard a robin early this morning. I did not hear anything. I was fast asleep. And kept sleeping. It's those late-night-early-morning hours I keep. Something has to be done about that. And that something, I believe, will be the eventual full unfolding of spring.

I can hardly wait for the snow and ice to succumb to warmer temperatures and the newly energized sun, to lay bare the garden. When that happens, I know, from past experience, that it will take no time at all for the perennials to begin to emerge, the fall-planted bulbs to crack their way through the surface of the soil. And then it will all begin to coalesce into a kalaidescope of colour, shape and promise toward summer.

I did see a cardinal blazing crimson atop the bare branches of a tree this morning, though. My husband pointed it out to me, and its sweet trill made our morning. Our little dog, so sensitive to the growing warmth of the sun has begun insisting on a day like this, that it is his prerogative to gain the outside, and lie contentedly on the deck, absorbing the soul-balming rays of the sun.