I saw a robin this afternoon. I caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, just as it lit on the bare branches of a tree as I drove past. That flitting movement filled my heart. I couldn't help the grin that creased my face. The car clock read 1:11.

The sky is gray, full of drizzling clouds. But the air is warm. My spirit is light. Spring IS coming. I feel it in my bones, and deep down inside my chest, that welling up of hope, that I want to hold on to. Yet, I am tentative, because I fear if I hold to tight that hope will slip out of my grip. Acceptance, for me, is understanding that it may leave my grip, but not my life, and while I hold it here, I can soak it in and savor it, and create a memory of it to help me remember to anticipate it's return.

Soon that robin and her mate may return to my front porch to repair their nest, and start their temporary little family. A new season is emerging, and I will be here, busy, but anticipating the moments to be able to be still and embrace it: puddles, mud, wet earthy-scent, rain drops on the windshield, dampened frizzy hair, and all.