The lilacs are in bloom. Birds are busily building nests. And I've been playing the peeping Tom, sitting in the sunshine observing the activity around me.
Our crab apples are also in bloom, not as wonderfully full as last year since this is their off-year, but still the fragrance filling the air is enough to send me into raptures. Kipling wrote that "Smells are surer than sights and sounds to make your heart-strings crack." I'm always amazed at how smells evoke a memory or a taste. I remember Marie Fritcher's homemade blackberry pie always tasted like my grandmother's attic smelled. I never figured out how that could be - but it was a fact!
A wren couple has taken up residence in "CrabApple Inn" which swings from a branch of that tree. Mrs. Wren is a wee pert beauty. I saw her bobbing in and out of the Inn door yesterday while her husband perched on a branch at a safe distance practicing his musical riffs. I decided that she was doing some serious decision making - probably picking out paint colors and carpet samples while her husband wisely remained passively supportive.
Apple blossom petals drifted to the ground as wren notes eddied around them. It was like watching a ticker tape parade for Spring.
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