Late winter is a fitful time, a time between sleeping and waking the bed is warm but the air is so cold. The mourning doves melancholy dirges resonate with my reluctance to shift into this new season, even as the curtain rises on daffodils pushing up complete with buds ready to open.
The sun is regaining its intensity and strength, climbing a little higher for a little longer every day. You can feel the heat through the cold air and the promise of too much heat later, but that is easy to overlook for now.
The birds and the light and the barn call to me insistently: Ewes will soon be lambing at dawn; Best to be Earlier than Early.
And so it is. Here She is the end of winter time to embrace the dawn to dusk schedule which comes, luckily, with lightly perfumed air, cool temperatures, and glorious, wondrous, beautiful babies.