I've been fascinated by the bushes in our backyard recently. I feel an undeniably strong fervor for nature when there is a pane of glass separating us. From the dining room I pan the yard and and get lost in the fluttering life rustling our bushes.
Tom calls the bushes "plum thickets," and while I'm sure that must be a real term, it rolls of the tongue the same way as "good ol' boy" or "jeet yet?" and since I'm really just a city girl loving nature through the window I don't feel authentic saying plum thickets.
Our bushes in the backyard are bustling with wildlife, sometimes I can coax them up onto the deck with stray seeds, but like me, they enjoy keeping their distance.
It's a slow transition to spring. Little steps forward with lots of steps back. But the birds seem comfortable roosting in the backyard, and that gives us hope. The boys keep asking me when summer is coming. Sometimes I answer "a few weeks.." or "a month or so.." instead of repeating "I don't know" to yet another question. But what I really should tell them is to slow down, one thing at a time, boys. Spring needs some savoring first.
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