This was the day the rain stopped, February retreated and May came back, if only briefly, to this corner of the world. The last of yellowing grass decided to green and the buds on the Linden trees, many of them still bashful and unsure, threw caution to the wind and unfurled themselves in magnificent splendor. This was the day sun reappeared and ignited the droplets of water that had gathered on the foot-tall, bending blades of grass that grow along the fence, just out of reach of the mowers. My frog, the one that hides among the cattails behind the building and loves to sing, rediscovered his voice––a clunky, wooden sound––and slipped into a perfect, chirping harmony with the creek and the rustle and sway of the narrow, twine branches of the willows sliding against each other. This was the day the world turned green––a hundred thousand different shades of it––and I noticed the scent of the lilacs drifting up from thick purple and white clumps in the neighborhoods all around.
And this was the day, after six years, that Duncan finally agreed to learn how to roll over. He did it in the grass at the park, turning this way and that on his back, pushing his feet against the sky as though trying to force himself down through the dark earth, down and down past the worms and the rocks, straight out the other side where dreams were still real and morning a few hours away. He did it over and over, an enormous grin on his face, eager to please, joyful and proud of his new trick.
This was a good day. A good day indeed.