This morning, as I stepped out on the porch this morning, I was greeted by the first  serenade.

In times I lived away from here, I would often have to return in early spring. When it was time for the dogwood to bloom and the whip-poor-will to begin singing in these hills, it was time to be ‘home’!

To me, those simple plaintive notes sing of comfort, love and a ‘joy unspeakable’. I have heard, growing up, that there will be no ‘hard’ frost after the whip-poor-wills begin to sing.