Wild Blue Lupine Morning

"It's Spring fever. That is what the name of it is.

And when you've got it, you want... oh, 

you don't quite know what it is you do want,

 but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!"

 ~Mark Twain~

I know this quote well. I understand what Samuel Clements was saying. He died in the Spring of 1910 in Redding, California. I live in the same part of the country. I know what he means. I hope that he was looking out of a window filled with Lupine when he died.
I love winter here. I love the mildness of our weather, the hope of snow and the ability to hike and walk in December and January... but, Oh spring. I feel its joy when I walk outside. The birds that choose to nest on our porch, the green hills, the wildflowers and the fragrance of this place. It's a sweet "heart ache" and it's there every year for all to see and feel.

The Prospector was weed eating the old goat run and came in to tell me that he left the blueish purple Lupine standing so I could take some pictures of it.
I walked down to the vegetable garden with my camera and went through the gate to the pasture below, sitting down in the field where the goats use to roam. For five years our goats did not leave these flowers for us to enjoy but, in exchange, they cleared the land below the house. These flowers were tasty delicacies for them. I could always find the flowers elsewhere on our road. I didn't mind that the goats enjoyed them so... if only I could see Brownie and Murph' down there again. I miss the boys.

"Our spring has come at last with the soft laughter of April suns..."

~Byron Caldwell Smith, letter to Kate Stephens~

Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. 
~Rainer Maria Rilke~

I know the thrill of the grasses when the rain pours over them.

I know the trembling of the leaves when the winds sweep through them.

I know what the white clover felt as it held a drop of dew pressed close in its beauteousness.

I know the quivering of the fragrant petals at the touch of the pollen-legged bees.

I know what the stream said to the dipping willows, and what the moon said to the sweet lavender.

I know what the stars said when they came stealthily down and crept fondly into the tops of the trees.

~Muriel Strode, "Creation Songs"

I know. I know.

Yes, I know.