Ah, the coming of spring… Hope is in the air, trees are putting out tiny curled up things that will unfurl into leaves, the birds are gathering for their spring chorus every morning, snow is melting, and the poets are doing their poesy thing with joy. It’s a grand time.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade.
Charles Dickens

If you live where March comes on like that, you know what CD is talking about.

I wandered lonely
as a cloud
that floats on high
o’er vales and hills
When all at once
I saw a crowd,
a host, of golden
daffodils;
beside the lake,
beneath the trees,
fluttering and dancing
in the breeze.
William Wordsworth

Next time you’re outside on a spring day, be William Wordsworth and write about it like that.

Daffodowndilly
She wore her yellow sun bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
”Winter is dead.”
A.A. Milne

That is exactly what daffodils are saying when they flutter and dance and turn their heads to one another.

In the morning, one blog post will whisper to another, “The Blog is Dead.”