Curiosity i see a strange and tiny flower there, but don't know what to call them. they are not showy as many flowers are. but they have a certain, very special prescence, and are, when all is said and done, flowers, of their kind. i look, and see the river's rising, flowing fast in full flood. birds have returned and so it's spring, and summer won't be far behind. we won't complain: snow or sunshine, wind or rain. we get what we get, and some is free, as i sit here beneath a tree.