And what a morning! One of those rare ones that feels like it’s been waiting all winter just to unfold right in front of you. If I had the voice for it, I’d throw my head back and sing—something grand, something worthy of the world stretching its arms after a long, cold sleep. Hard to believe that just a week ago, we were stumbling out of bed in the dark, the world outside frozen and half-asleep. But now? Well, the light’s still rubbing its eyes, but I can see it—Apollo’s chariot just beyond the treetops, wheels spinning, waiting for its cue. And winter? Oh, winter knows. It’s on the lam, coat flapping, slipping through the cracks like a thief who stayed too long at the party.

And look who’s taking its place. The daffodils, the lilies, the tulips—stretching, yawning, rubbing the sleep out of their petals. Dogwood trees are dusting off their buds, getting ready for their grand performance. The squirrels—already up, already scheming—are darting between branches, throwing down some choice words for the neighborhood dogs. The birds are tuning up, rehearsing their morning chorus, while somewhere below, an unsuspecting worm is about to have a very bad day.

And then, there’s the raccoon. Unbothered, unchanged. Winter, spring, summer, fall—it’s all the same to him. He’s still out there, doing his thing, sifting through last night’s leftovers like a tiny, masked philosopher searching for the meaning of life in a pile of discarded French fries.

Yeah, it’s an exceedingly beautiful morning. A morning swollen with new life, with possibility, with the quiet hum of the earth exhaling after a long, cold season. If you get the chance, step outside, take a deep breath. Feel it. Spring’s first breath, warm on your cheek, whispering, Here we go again.

…Oops. I hope I didn’t speak too soon. Don’t mean to jinx the coming days ahead. We all know how March can be—one minute it’s all sunshine and birdsong, the next you’re scraping ice off your windshield, wondering where it all went wrong. So let’s just say winter might be making its exit. But, just in case, let’s not pack away the coats quite yet.