The chickadee says...

Saturday morning, 4 inches of snow needed shoveling. With each push and throw the walk cleared and the banks grew. The air was cold and the sky clearing and from somewhere the sound of a chickadee rose. "Sweet spring, sweet spring" of course it was too early but one can't help but admire the hope in the song. I looked to the sky to see where it was coming from but the trees wouldn't reveal their secret. The birds know things we don't, sense things we on the ground cannot. Spring is less then a month away no matter what the snow says.

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