I am sitting in our back porch on my first official visit of 2023. A half-dozen frogs have broken into the porch over the winter. One is reading, two are just resting, one couple has proclaimed they are “so hoppy” together and the big dude with binoculars is looking for something, maybe something that’s been illegally left here and better kept a secret, but I’m not going to go there.

It is lovely on the back porch. Screened in expectation. I know spring is still in hiding somewhere behind February, but flat glossy sunshine is tossing long shadows all over the place and I can hear the daffodils pushing up green shoots through the moist black soil.

I have been an hour wandering the yard, making a mental list of stuff that needs doing, with the stuff well ahead at this point – maybe 48 to 14.

Yet I love the feel of what needs doing – within reason. I go to sleep at night thinking about it, cannot imagine a life where nothing needs doing, do not want a life where nothing needs doing.

It’s like spring-training for spring. A guy needs some time to process all that, problem solve, work on a schedule, then find a place on a back porch to admire all he’s done. So, apparently, do some of our frogs.