School has been (more than ever) all-consuming. It's crazy-time season there -- the normal sort of events that come at us thick and fast have been joined by negative politics that have struck at the heart of our school. I'm having to figure out how to ride out all of the negative changes that appear to be coming our way.
Meanwhile, spring has arrived at Frogpond. The pond is still little more than a very large puddle, but the recent rains have brought some green to the hills. I'm grateful for that. Yesterday I dug out the roses that had begun languishing in the barrels I'd planted them in years before. I wheeled them down to the lower garden, where I hope they do better.
While replanting them down there, I heard the creaking, plaintive calls of Sandhill Cranes overhead. Looking up, I saw a huge flock come circling into view. Hundreds of birds formed patterns against the sky as they spiraled and soared through the thermals. Bruce and I stopped work to admire the living Chinese scroll that swirled above us.