World is growing lighter even with fear growing too.
I hear the blue jays. I hear them rustling and ruffling their feathers engaged in their warding off of the birds of prey.
Spoken words are never as sharp as their shrill shrieks they call to their brethren. Their sound is a smaller school choir within the bigger orchestra, spilling it’s sound unto the receiving world.
The world as we know it is in a tizz y, hopping around six feet apart and forbidding eating together.
The world still on it’s axis keeps turning still, season to season and day to night.
Spring is in the brazen blue jay call, in the short high note chirp of the grackles and swooning song the starlings cry.
Spring is beneath our feet, in the brown to green grass and the daffodils puncturing through rain softened soil.
There’s a treasure in this wide abode, people in their gardens, greeting neighbors, speaking.
Hope grows when and where the flowers do, in spring.