How well I remember it, the song of the first robin in spring. I waited for that song and when I heard it early one morning I lay in bed utterly still hardly daring to breath for fear I might miss some of the beauty of it. Yesterday afternoon it came to me. I was resting on the porch swing on the front deck of my house. I have two decks one in the front and one in the back. My front deck has jasmine and all manner of wonderful fragrances thanks to a great Gardner who is always filling the plant a flower boxes with some new and delightful friends for us to treasure and care for. As I sat there listening to the sparrows, which are always talking, I realized that on my street, in this city, I never hear a robin. In fact I never hear any bird other than the sparrow. It never freezes here, there is never snow, but there is no robin. If you live in a place where the Robin will sing some early morning this spring, consider yourself most fortunate. Listen for his song and when you first hear it, lie there in respectful silence and treasure of last note of that song. Let me know when you first hear it. I promise I’ll try not to be jealous.