A deliciously splendid day upon our mountaintop hollow. The sky is raked clear of last night’s clouds and only a decadent azure remains. It is warm, so warm that even in the shadows of the the spruce thicket just south of the cottage one can hear the tink-tink-droplet-song of the fading snow. A bald eagle has glided past my window several times, looking for her breakfast somewhere between the Firefly Meadow and the Elfwood, and a murder of ravens cackle at her patience. Songbirds fill the poplars and birches with spring tunes and woodpeckers chatter out a quest for bugs. Life carries on in Twa Corbies Hollow: a new spring, a new cycle of life, a new day. Hope is renewed as the season, and slumbering spirits of the land awake and stretch in delight.