First Saturday morning all year I could wear a tee-shirt, which I did, happily. Even though the gnats made life miserable and I came home with puffy welts on my temples, it was a great morning, although, once again, a subdued dawn.
But the world belongs to King Corn right now, although it's hard to call it "king," three-inches of flimsyness cutting racing stripes up and down acres and acres of land darkened, sweetly, by an evening shower, for contrast. A red-headed woodpecker posed momentarily for me, and a ubiquitous robin, not to be outdone, alighted not far from the car window.
The wildflowers are still tucked away somewhere, planning their debut, except for some early season bright blue flox in shady ditches and two or three of these yellow guys emerging from the grasses. After a week in New Mexico, the emerald here is so refreshing you can almost drink it.
Right now, however, the countryside belongs, already, to a billion little soldier-like princes.