Is there anything more joyful than an open window on a warm, late winter morning?
I opened the window last night and delighted in the bird chatter in the early morning light. An owl hooted in the distance.
A breeze wafts through the screen, carrying with it heavy smells of damp earth, rotting leaves and promises of green.
That breeze carries away smells of burning wood, clear cold snow, a house shut up for too long.
With rain in the forecast, the open window won't last, but it promises of spring will linger, linger.