The forsythia and other trees and shrubs are in bloom. Underfoot, the grass is a soft, rich green. Forest wildflowers are starting to poke through. It feels like spring is a bit earlier than it has been in recent years.

Springtime in New England is notoriously unpredictable. I can remember watching the Boston Marathon when the runners were running through the snow, and other times when people were hosing them down against 90-degree temperatures.

Hopefully I can get an early start on my garden. It’s out of the question just now. It needs to dry out a bit more. But there are some flower beds to work on.

The other day I went to a spot where I’ve seen marsh marigolds in the past, but the water’s too high to get anywhere near it. I did see a bed of green leaves poking through under some pine trees – maybe a bumper crop of Lady’s-slippers? There have been some there before.

I can’t wait. I love spring, and I’m excited by all the possibilities the weekend has to offer. I feel exactly the same as I did more than half a century ago, still in elementary school, and I would race out the kitchen door on a sunny Saturday morning to go see if any new flowers had blossomed, check the pond for frogs eggs, maybe catch a few insects to look at them under a magnifying glass.

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