This afternoon my nerves tingle with spring. It’s hard to deny the season when dandelions, hyacinths, and tulips add their voices to the clamor of change. Even the dog speaks, shedding her winter coat in dry clumps, which I scatter from her brush as offerings for the birds. Because I hear them calling, the cardinals and mockingbirds, chickadees and robins. Even a tufted titmouse, a new song for an old yard, aching with hope.
Falling victim to our odd non-winter, one of my irises lost track of time and bloomed far too early. Its madness stokes my mania for spring. I’m restless and unfocused, tempted to open my windows despite the cold. Should I trust the iris? Perhaps it is a more reliable prophet than a sleepy groundhog…
My camera reveals a small, shy, distant world that I cannot enter on my own. The zoom and macro functions transform me into Alice, and I crawl eagerly through the tiny lens, emerging in a land of wonder.
Rae Spencer 