where the writers are
When illness turns everyday into a scary roller coaster ride, Ambrosio uses laughter to deal with the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

The birds are back. Some never left. A few are leaving or hiding. Nest construction and repair are underway. I awaken to sun and chirping. Bulbs are sprouting. Sammy Da Nose, our dog, is shedding his winter coat and so are we. It’s spring in Ohio.

 In the Virgin Islands where I grew up, gardens are always colorful. The sea is warm year-round and most birds don’t migrate. St. Thomians divide calendar years into rough beach season, mango/rainy season, Carnival season, high and low tourist seasons, hurricane season, Christmas season, school days, and seemingly nine million local holidays.

Now that I live in the center of the U.S. mainland where temperatures and most foliage change, I understand why people celebrate spring. Snow is gone. Sunlight is more abundant. Two-legged and four-legged animals, a.k.a. neighbors, chipmunks, rabbits, etc., are emerging from hibernation. Soon, but not soon enough for me, it also will be time to plant, mulch, mow and weed.

Spring is here.