I've heard rumors some songbirds are returning, but I hadn't heard any of them until yesterday. It's such a bad idea for them to come back in February when there's a polar vortex going on, but it's funny how you don't realize how silent winter is until a gaggle of loudmouth birds set up shop in the pine tree outside your window. And your little black cat sees them and races around the house like he just shot up crack. And you look up from the golf ball you've been using to massage your plantar fascia because it's pissed at you from too many treadmill miles instead of running outside, but you can't run outside because of frostbite and falling to your death on black ice.

So anyway, I heard birds. 

And though I know the East Coast is setting up for another snow dump that might threaten Beloved's return to Kansas City, at least I got to tell him about this:

I think we might have to go outside and play, according to DJ Nibbles.

It finally stopped raining, so I went for a jog, and I discovered a new texture to add to the list of icky textures I carry around in my head so I will avoid touching them in the future.

SATURATED GRASS

It looks solid, but it's so not.

I also don't like the texture of:

• Overripe bananas
• Most cooked greens
• Shag carpeting
• Sheep

The little black cat started using his front paw again after twenty-four hours of solitary confinement in a room with low spaces.

He shot out the door the minute I opened it yesterday and now spends his moments torpedoing around the house, insane. We discovered he may be even younger than we thought, according to his growth plates.

That explains a lot.

---

Last night while we drove home from gymnastics, the fog was werewolf thick, and I could barely make out the headlights coming toward me.

This morning we woke up to deceptively warm air that spoke more of March than of January.

So I opened the window for the little black cat, and I saw his whole world change in an instant. Face pressed to the screen, whiskers blowing a bit in the breeze.

He didn't move for ten minutes.

I think this means thank you.

---

Last night, I discovered  THE OBVIOUS GAME is now on Amazon, though it isn't coming up normally in searches yet, which I hope is just because it's still in pre-order stage. This morning, Tracie Nall put up this guest post by me on the writing process, using Kindle for revision, StoryMill software and butts in chairs. Thank you, Tracie!

My inner monologue last Sunday while sporting swimwear during a month when it usually snows.

Ninety degrees on a Sunday afternoon.

Lake water, breathtakingly cold.

Trees not fully leafed out.

Four pontoons parked by the not-yet-roped-off swimming area spilled forth dogs and people amazed at the sunshine.

Twenty children balanced on life rafts and screamed with laughter.

Teenaged boys shook off water like puppies.

The radio commercials talked about spring coming soon.

I think it's already here.