Spring sprinkles kiss the tall green grass as a light wind makes the stems flow like dancers in unison. The long porch is entertained by the droplets pinging off the metal roof like BB’s. Mindlessly I watch droplets dangle off the branches of wet spring foliage and drop into the puddles below, each drop creating a circle of waves as it hits, pushing farther and farther out from its center until one circle intersects another. These puddles are filled with waves created by the little circles. Though there is science behind the inertia of the droplet, the energy and movement, I can’t help but wonder what purpose they serve.

The Fog has been rolling across the Golden Gate Bridge

Goosebumps rise on my skin as I open the creaky old door from the house to the sun-drenched porch. A blast of arctic air sends a message that winter is fighting hard not to let go, not to lose control to spring. The two have been fighting it out for a couple of weeks now. Soon, hopefully, spring will win, and then before long spring will lose to summer.

A flash of light so bright it jolted me out of my bed, and less than a second later, the ground shook like a mega missile had struck. I remember counting seconds from the flash of light to the sound of thunder. This one was so close it had to be one of the old oaks on the property of this old Texas farmhouse.

After a cold week, the porch is drenched in warm

Brilliant spring greens lightly cover the recently bare twisted oaks. Buds of fuzzy pussywillows signal spring’s arrival. Blankets of deep-blue bluebonnets and orange “Indian paintbrushes” cover miles of roadways and farms, bringing rich, vibrant hues to the otherwise dusty sage colors here. A soft warm breeze moves through the treetops like ballerinas quietly tiptoeing the moves of Swan Lake. I’m like a prisoner freed from the shackles — spring has released me from the indoors and the heated air as I return to my special place, the old long porch looking out over the vast distant hills and tall grasses.