Days fill up and fly by with things to be done, bursting along with the forsythia bush out back, where every tiny fist of yellow petals aligning the branch angle and aim to open to the promised sun shimmering above the gray underbelly of late morning sky. I am drawn to wet metaphors from more than thirty winters in the Pacific Northwest. We live in the tear duct of Puget Sound atop of the west bank of Olympia. Watery at any excuse from above and below, the air coaxes Spring in with a flourish of color ready to unveil itself in a breathtaking entrance amidst the lush greenery saluting the puddling trails of mud and chips betwixt old growth and a new season of light looming just ahead. Anticipation feeds the breeze with buoyant strains as fingers find strings to bounce to and fro in melodic patterns and dosey-does. A small ukulele psyches to be picked up and my fingers rush to finish desk work, gather up its wee shape and croon it back to a hum with a lullaby answering the cry from the heart of it all. Life! – kate