Spring crept in quietly, but a short time ago I noticed the first little buds poking out on trees and bushes, and the crocus plants pushing through the soil like tiny trumpets of color.
The earth, still cool, stirred with life—worms wiggled up from their underground sleep, and bugs began to reappear bees buzzing, ticks lurking, stink bugs clinging to screens.
I like bugs, especially in Spring. Apparently, so do the birds. All winter long, they gather at my windowsill, pecking gratefully at the bread I offer. But once Spring arrives, they visit only in the morning—after that, they vanish into the green world, where bugs are back on the menu.
Georgia
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