It’s easy to take a picture of a bird flying by a telephone pole.

But it’s a bit hard to take just a picture of a bird flying by a telephone pole—at least for me.

Other stuff keeps getting into the frame. And then I’m looking at that other stuff. And then my eyes are really opening—and I can’t stop looking for and at as much stuff as I can.

And before I know it, a wet and gray winter day becomes . . .

. . . the day I notice the plums are in bud.

Look! The first one’s just bust wide open!

Waaaaah! Here come the plums! Go ahead, let yourself smile!

I heard a young boy say once—a young boy frustrated in love—

I wasn’t ready to think about spring

But the plum trees bloomed anyway.

Ready or not here they come.