Hill country springtime.

Springtime in north Mississippi does not announce its coming with a bold, brash dash of color. Rather, it sends shy violets to peep from beds of dry leaves as if nature itself is yawning and stretching and waiting. Sleeping earth awakens, and myriad seeds stir from their slumber. A dozing cat welcomes springtime's soft warmth. Spring showers are not far away.

Hillside trees cast away their stark, barren winter profiles, and pale green leaves give the appearance of soft pillows under a benevolent sky. Pine shoots poke their green heads from winter beds of sedge grass. Delicate yellow buttercups and colorful tulips awaken early and spread the news: "It's springtime."

Light filters from waters beneath a bridge, and new sprouts embrace it. Grass, touched by a golden sun, reflects warmth to a barren tree and its growth of mistletoe even as a springtime kiss rests sweetly on a favored tree cover.

Baby mockingbirds huddle, mouths wide open, waiting to be fed. Ladybugs, salamanders, and insects stir, and plum blossoms shine white in the soft spring glow. Newly born sawbrier leaves show individual personality but later will conform to a solid green.

Sweet Williams brighten roadsides and forest areas, and Henbit bathes farmland with subtle shades of spring purple. A one-room schoolhouse from days of yore, now turned into a barn, sits silently as spring surrounds it, not noticing that the land is bathed in Easter egg colors.

Azaleas in a yard vie with wild wisteria across the street for the most "oohs" and "aahs," while tiny blooms of a papaw tree wait drably until their day of accomplishment--a banana-smell-alike but not taste-alike fruit. Dogwood blossoms give the feeling of purity.

Redbud flowerets drape themselves on the trunk of their tree in such a way as to make one think of a cross. Spring nestles closely to death and gives hope of resurrection.

And God does the rest.