"What are you listening to, momma," Bailey came and settled in. "The Seasons by Tchaikovsky," I told her. "It is nice. I know it is still winter but more and more often I catch a breeze outside that smells fresh and earthy. It is still cold but the sun on your bed is warm through the windows and I can see the place where birds build a nest every year. And I love that daylight is returning, momma! It stays light almost until dinnertime now; makes me sure that in no time it will be light enough for after-dinner games in the yard."
"Close your eyes, Sweet Girl. This next section is March, The Song of the Lark. It will remind you Spring is surely coming to us with birdsongs, and new buds," I told her. "And your birthday, momma," my drowsy Bailey Girl reminded me.
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