Fevered Forest

I've been travelling, on the go, nonstop, for three days.

My littlest one has burned with fevered brow, an uncharacteristic happening for the L'il Man of health.

The nights have been long and sleep has come in staccato stages. I've hardly been aware of my surroundings outside of a four foot invisible space box that encompasses me; and which contains the most immediately pressing need of the moment.

Until this morning.

This morning, I had the joy of taking my dog out for his morning potty break. As I opened the door, I was surprised and delighted to feel a fresh, cool breeze upon my cheek. Comfortable enough to be outside in short sleeves, I pondered the fact that mere days prior, I'd been ensconced in a historic snowstorm, which delighted me equally so.

Traversing the way into the woods behind our house, I stopped short. Immediately above me, a huge flock of spring birds took flight, rustling the tree branches, and chirping in chorus of exclamatory notes. Was it really time? Is spring honestly almost here?

Stepping into the deep of the brush, and being hidden by it's welcoming arms, I then took note of tiny green buds appearing at the tip of the branches. Fingers, gnarled, reaching, hoping for the warmth to continue that they might open wide.

The forest about me was alive, the noises of birds and squirrels living and moving and having their being . . . the nighttime thrashing of discomfort during fever giving way to the sound of natures' cacophony ~ a feverish crescendo of joy.