It Was a Robins Egg
The sun is trying to warm this place and I try in vain to encourage it with ill-fated sun dances and late night prayers. The wind is strong and defies my attempts to bring spring out from its long hibernation. A fine wood bird feeder was bought to liven up the aviary that has begun celebrating with abandon in the back yard. It’s a Wild Kingdom competition between the ground squirrels and my flock of northern cardinals, house finches, and chickadees. The squirrels are winning out on the feeder right now. Their intimidation tactics and basic playground bulling have secured their position nicely. The cats are in heaven. They watch intensely the battle being fought, hoping for a chance to get in on the action and prove their superiority. I’m certain that both the squirrels and the birds thank me for holding the kittens at bay. Quite often, while staring out the window, the cats get worked up into a mad ecstasy; delirium takes over there little brains and they run around the house chasing nothing but air and imaginary ghosts. It’s fun to watch them tear their claws into dreamed up opponents with outbursts surfaced from lunacy. Good times.

I’ve become slowly addicted to the seasonal treat known as the ‘Robins Egg’. If you’re unfamiliar, it’s basically a malted milk ball that’s been dressed up for a spring fashion show. Speckles are the new black! Delicious in any color. A beautiful treat to have sitting in a nice bowl when dignitaries and guests arrive at your home. Martha is going away for awhile so it’s important that we all chip in and keep her spirit alive in our hearts and in our kitchens. The Robins Egg is my contribution.