By Richard Hoe Barrows
Ye white-winged prophets of the coming spring,
With trumpet tones ye make the welkin ring.
Thrice glad ye make us with your wild hosannas,
Winging your way from sunny, green savannas.
We watch and see your light forms disappear
Far in the blue, transparent atmosphere,
While echoes in our breast your glad refrain,
And faith grows quick that spring will come again.
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I was craving flowers on Saturday, so after breakfast Paul and I went to Green Spring Gardens in Virginia, where they actually have daffodils blooming! They also have crocuses, snowdrops, witch hazel, heath, lenten roses, and jasmine, plus camellias that bloom through the fall and winter. The turtles are still hiding, but we saw some geese and ducks, and the house was set up for an afternoon tea.
We came home to take Maddy to work, walked in Cabin John Park since it was nice out, then came back to watch the Maryland-Ohio State game, which had a satisfactory ending. And I caught a Porygon right across the street from my house! We spent the evening organizing our Kindles and watching some ninth season Bones, and now we're watching Saturday Night Live, the only thing in America improved by bad politics.
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