The rain clouds are gone. A nice March wind is blowing, reminding me of a song my grandma used to sing:
Blow old March wind, blow, blow, blow.
Make the arms of the windmill go.
Flutter the clothes on the clothesline high.
Sail our kites to the far blue sky.
Push the sailboats over the deep,
And waken the buds from their winter sleep.
The buds are surely being awakened, the soggy ground is getting a little help with the drying-out process, and I feel a noticeable lift in my spirit just looking out upon the advent of spring.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment