Good morning!

It’s Friday, and the spring peepers have returned! I’ve recorded their evening symphony for you. Just tap the right-pointing triangle up top for a listen.

“After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind—rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfold on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring.” 

― Willa Cather, My Ántonia

Subscribers, shall we gather at 2pm Eastern?

Onwards,

Clara

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