Within a couple of days we've gone from looking for Spring to tripping over it when you walk out the front door.
(Spring versus spring, upper case "S" or lower case "s," when referring to the season of the year? It's things like that make me nuts, always have. It's one of seven dozen reasons I could never write that novel which hides somewhere within me; I'd forever get bogged down on spelling, punctuation, etc.)
I have a major adventure planned for this weekend. I live life large as can be, to the fullest. My cavalier, damned near swashbuckling plans for the weekend are focused on finding Spring around the property.
And I know where to look. That heavy gardening background of mine comes in handy from time to time and I know where to look.
I will.
Should the signs be present, I'll photograph and report back. If not, I'll write some more about the bishop. No shortage of material there.
Oh, are you Twittering yet? I swore not to do it, seeing no real use for it. I caved. I now Twitter. Look me up, I'm SPCA_Sween.
