For a few weeks now, we’ve heard the spring peepers in the woods some nights. I wake to the hilarity of the birds who, a month ago, were silent and perhaps weren’t even here. And now, in the mornings, the sun is spreading its light before I leave the house for my six a.m. walk. The few pairs of shorts in the boys’ dresser are cycling through the laundry faster than their pants. Spotted only yesterday: a pick-up truck towing a boat to the lake. Now the daffodils and pear trees are in full bloom along the highway, and twice now, after dark, a moth has beaten its wings against the picture window in the breakfast room. My foyer is crusted with mud. It is caked in the carpet of the lowest stairs. The children come indoors before the sun is down with dirt up to their knees; they smell of wild onions pulled from the lawn. And, for the first time in five months, I have painted my toenails.
