It’s that time again, the time to breathe in the fresh air through my nose and close my eyes as I inhale the scent of spring. Birds on branches sing their songs as my children fall into sleep. The sky changes colors like a painter’s palette and suddenly, flavors are sharper, tangier, more enticing.

Under a heavy branch, in the shadows of full leaves, we can believe anything is possible. We trudge over broken branches and fallen trees, inspect the maze-like workings of the bark’s heavy grain and taste the sweet citrus of sunshine.

It is time to appreciate the stillness and listen to the silence. It is time to understand the signs the universe is sending. It is time to notice the colors and the words and the images in our wanderings, all of them significant.

There have been mornings when my children go outside in their pajamas and rain boots and climb atop the roof of the playhouse. They pick dandelions, believing they are flowers, and because their soft little hands hold them, I, too, believe in the transformation. It’s all about how we see things and through the eyes of my children, everything is right, beautiful, amazing.

The morels are ripe at the base of dead trees now in the forests around us. Yesterday, I received an invitation to take the kids morel hunting. Doubtful they will eat any dish I make with these delicate rare mushrooms, but that ceases to matter, as it is all about the journey, the exploration, the search.

Right now there is warm air blowing from the vents and cool air promising through the window screen. I am prepared to celebrate all that my hometown has to offer. It’s not all bad news, you know. It’s all in how you look at things. And I prefer to see through my children’s eyes, the endless possibility, the hope for the future, the absolute belief that anything is possible.

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