Spring, roused from her mossy slumber by the soft chill of new fallen snow followed by flooding rains, has slipped quietly away to the south to await more favorable winds before advancing north. News of the prognosticators prediction of 6 more weeks of winter still ringing in her ears, she ponders her approach; wandering aimlessly round the budding bulbs that dare to peek their sleepy heads above the soft moist earth at the first signs of lengthening days. She kisses them tenderly to reaasure them that it won't be long now until the sun is allowed to spread his warmth deep into the sod, bringing more and more life and color to the lawns and woodlands across the landscape. Ever reaching toward the mountain peaks looming high above the quiet hollows from which she's recently been nudged, she looks longingly toward the north and the little valley, here in the Appalachians, where I make my home; knowing that I'm still here eagerly watching and waiting for signs of her arrival in the weeks ahead. Wander slowly, sweet springtime, until the hour is right for your peaceful march through greening fields and o'er grassy hilltops toward this quiet spot. Until then we'll rest, pondering the harvest of the sugary sap slowly creeping up through the thawing veins of the maple trees bringing nourishment to the lofty branches during the day and plummeting back to the roots at night to hide from the freezing temperatures. Thoughts of warming breezes ruminate round my sleepy head with visions of pancakes...topped with the sweet rewards of that harvest...and sugar on snow...with it's wonderful...strands...(yawn)...of sticky goodness... trailing.... from... my finger......tips.....