Home thoughts, from abroad

by Robert Browning

O, TO be in England
Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

* * *

Yes, I know how Browning feels. There is one place for each person where they are happier than they could be anywhere else. I love my home because it's beautiful--but also because it's my home.

But even here spring is showing its first signs. It's still not quite flowery, but there are few little yellow flowers in a couple places, and the trees are budding, if you look closely. And today has been sunny, warm, and bright, with a breeze from the south. (Although last time it did that, it snowed three days later.)