"I am sitting here looking out at this bluebird day, after having walked through the rain-wet farm near my house this morning. The skunk cabbage skirled their lime green skirts on the dark forest floor, raindrops glittered on the furred leaves of mullein’s basal whorl, an ovenbird sang in the treetops. A red-tailed hawk perched majestic in an old oak at the edge of the woods, up near the top of hill, where the hawk’s eyes took in every movement of mouse and vole in the creek bottom below. Spring has exploded out of the dark earth in these recent days of rain, something wild just setting itself loose on the world whether the world wants it or not; the fact is that life craves its own completion and it just will out whether or not anyone or anything else notices," writes my friend Dana Knighten.

Such has been my experience of the day, as well, though I didn't get out until afternoon. After I'd received Dana's description, I, too, went out into the day and experienced the sky and air and earth as full of that energy of life craving life. I walked in the natural, humming quiet of sunny warmth in the meadow uphill and I gave thanks: thanks for all the natural world, even the thorns; thanks for family and friends to share the journey, lovely parts and hard.