It snowed again last night. Once again the yard is cottoned in soft white. The apple tree is shedded soft puffs of snow in the wind. I'm sick of it. But I stood out on the porch this morning, and the air was still on my skin, a breathless pause. And in the top of the apple stood the red cardinal, observing the morning as I, occasionally muttering 'swit, swit, swit' in a low tone. Everywhere, in every yard, the birds are speaking - some boldly, some quietly... but all of them rustling around, flitting from tree to bush, investigating this year's real estate and planning for the future. It's soon. It must be soon. The birds say so. Spring is coming.