March is a procession of tiny wonders.

In the wakening woods, where trout lily and spring beauty appear and disappear at the speed of life, red fox trots toward the forest’s edge, silent as a spring ephemeral.

Weaving between woods and meadow, bluebird combs the softening earth, harvesting grass and pine needles to craft its tidy, cup-shaped nest.

Behold the purple martin. A charm of hummingbirds, shimmering like flying prisms. Sprinkles of color in all directions.

Scarlet maple seeds cascade from naked branches. Fiddleheads brighten creeksides with a riot of luminous spirals. Electric redbuds dazzle.

Yellow transcends itself. Daffodils spill across rolling hills like a sun-kissed sea of trumpets. Spicebush quivers at the tender kiss of swallowtail. Dandelions present as wild, impassioned brushstrokes.

Earthworms animate the loamy soil. Black snakes dance across the warm earth like ribbons.

The humans emerge, too. Gardeners dawdle in dirt and sun. Lovers listen for warblers, sparrows, spring peepers. Children comb the earth as the bluebird does.

“Violets!” they squeal, gathering tiny purple flowers by the tiny precious palmful.

“Can we use them to make cookies?” they ask. “Pink jelly? Lemonade?”

Bare feet in feather-soft grass, they feel the wonder many have forgotten. The wonder of warm earth blossoming with new life. The taste of wild violet.

As the procession of spring continues, slip off your shoes. Let the tiny wonders revive and delight you. Awaken the purity of your own vernal spirit.