April first, snow down the night covered the brown field like Grandma's lace coverlet on the pine table. Green tulip stalks (invited guests come sooner than expected) stiffly wait for something to begin. Indoors, beside my fire, I watch for new developments when suddenly four robins light along the lace. One pulls a worm, and then another tries. Thrush in the willow sings like summer waterfall; the red-winged blackbird perches on the feathery maple tree. Now, quickly, sun removes the coverlet; party beginning after all.