Lime green crocs and pussy willows

I took a solitary trail ride on my elderly mare, Duetz, yesterday and the woods were resplendent with signs and sounds of spring.  Turkeys were warbling as they rustled through the underbrush.  Hardy pricker bushes tried to grab my leg with their soft green shoots.  The brooks were all raging from the spring melt coming off of the mountain.

I came around a corner and encountered two high-school girls enjoying the animals along the road to the farm.  One wore shorts and lime green crocs.  I smiled, then glanced at my own layers of clothes, and down vest.  At least the vest was daffodil yellow.

On the way home from the barn I stopped at a friend’s house.  He had promised me pussy willows.  We  edged along the perimeter of his pond, swollen over it’s banks and icy cold.  Our prize was an armload of delicate, soft puffs on graceful branches.  Almost zen-like.  A sure sign of spring.

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