Spring!

First bat, check.

First snake trail, check.

First anthill, check.

First wildflower on the farm, check.

First eggshell in the barn, check.

I'd say it's spring.

And yesterday, the moon got caught in the first bird of paradise blossom:



Coolness, says da Pooka. Or rather, not the coolness. The warmness. We approve, he says.