(image courtesy: blossomshopblog.com)
The grass is simply brown. Many of us miss it being green. When will it turn to its true colours?
The trees are bare. The branches seem brittle. But the roots continue to hold them together. Skeletal structures against a clandestine sky?
Birds. They have started returning. To still-bare trees, empty branches, browned grass, brooks that don't exist. Flowers that don't bloom. Buds that haven't yet appeared.
Squirrels. Their winter sojourn has ended. Their winter supplies run out. They run hither thither for petty morsels. For daily existence. The oaks are silent, still and secretive. No sign of leaves. Then, when will they start their acorn shower?