Spring is always a special time. Growing up, I could see a little bit, and I was always excited to wake up and notice the light outside my bedroom. When I lived in the dorm at the school for the blind in Oregon, I could see, through my north-facing window, the rungs of the fire escape from the top floor. The lawns turned from brown to green and, a bit later in the spring, those little yellow flowers pushed through. The blue jays gave out their raucous call and, because we were near a creek, the song sparrows sang their own particular song.