The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven–
All’s right with the world!
– Robert Browning
The sun’s schedule and mine finally came together. I spent the afternoon potting petunias and watching the birds from the deck. This rose-breasted grossbeak kept coming perilously close to me. But he always had one eye cocked in case I made a sudden move.
What a wonderful day. I can’t think of anyone or anywhere I would rather have been.