The First Day of Spring

I went for a walk yesterday down along the beach. The wind was out of the north and cold, pushing up white caps on the bay. But it was good to be out in the sun. I walked farther and longer than I'd intended, browsing the crooked streets down by the water, where the houses seem to jostle one another for a sea-view. I kept thanking God for cozy little back yards, picket fences, brightly painted porches. The beach was empty and cold, of course, but the view across the water was incredibly clear. Your gaze wandered among brown islands, rugged old forts guarding the narrow passages, and far out, glimpses of open water, a distant horizon. Later, coming home, I stopped to watch a couple of mockingbirds flitting about in a tangled patch of bittersweet. One of them surprised me by lighting on a near branch and staying quite still, as if to give me a good look. The bead-like black eyes, the downy breast, so white and soft, and the long pert tailfeathers. This intimate glimpse was the last and best of the many blessings of the day, our first day of Spring, and I walked the rest of the way home praising the Lord of all seasons.