Spring is unfolding. The sun is moving north, the days are getting longer. The swans are fattening up to fly north, gathering the strength to take off and maybe never come back. Any week now, when I go down into the valley they will be gone. If they’d only fly by to let me know they are on their way north, it would mean a lot. But I mean nothing to them. They will never come say good bye to me. And they will never know how much they mean to me.

The crocus and daffodils are opening. The first of so many flowers to come.