I found a tiny half-egg this week on the sidewalk leading up to my home, and I thought it was the perfect thing to bring inside for April. I didn't photograph it, and I can't find it anywhere, so I believe it was probably eaten by a dog. (There have been a few of them around these parts, lately.)
I only lamented the loss of my tiny half-egg for a moment, though, because as soon as I stepped outside I realized that late April is really not for bringing things in.
Late April seems most suited to bringing ourselves OUT.
And then I brought things in. This is the first week that I've populated bouquets entirely with my own stems and branches, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. I still have to go to the flower distributor for some things, and it'll be awhile yet before those seedling babies make good on their promises, but for now the tulips, fritillaria, grape hyacinths, the flowering cherries and plums on the streets, the forsythia that Marwin adorably calls happy-new-year-flower, and the glowing daffodils (and popping dandelions) are more than enough for a calendar page.