Thursday

It can't last. Nothing goes on without interruption except the progression of time. So, too, these brazen and brilliant spring days will taper off, but for now, it is glorious outside!

And who said chickens don't have memories? A whole season later, they are at the farmhouse door, clucking and waiting on the doormat, knowing darn well that I will soon step out and bring them treats.






Isie boy joins us for breakfast. He passes on the food but feeds on the warmth. I like that about him: right now, in his old age, he thrives on affection. And so I tolerate his stomach issues, his trampling over us all night long, his incessant meowing to get a morsel of food. He has become a sweet old cat. Nothing else matters. We'll never have a cat like him again (and therefore no one will convince me to have another cat here once he's gone).






Snowdrop comes over shortly after. Her parents have appointments and meetings galore and they sweetly offer to bring her for the long stretch to the farmhouse, where it's easier for me to play with her and keep an eye on, say, the laundry. (I'm leaving the day after tomorrow and I have the usual boatload of things to attend to before.)

Here she is, doing what she loves so much at the farmhouse: staring at the red elephant in her musical mobile.






I have this terrible fear that the sunshine will not be with us all day today. And so we head out early for our walk -- Ed, Snowdrop and I.






I check on her. A lot.






And the skies stay blue. All day long.






After the walk, I take Snowdrop out back of the barn, to reintroduce her to the cheepers. The girls come out hastily, as if excited by the prospect of future play!






Indoors, Ed holds her as I get her feeding ready. Ed is a laid back kind of person. It rubs off a little on Snowdrop when she is with him. As always, she looks so tiny in his big arms!






And now you're going to get a series of the Snowdrop laughs and giggles. Every day they are more varied, more lovely, more delicious.





















All that is spring has entered her little heart. Mine as well.











She is so full of energy, sweetness and movement. Total joy. It's her gift and I am so so lucky that she shares it so freely, without reservation.