A gray windy April day, the goldfinches and red winged blackbirds have migrated back to the feeders swooping up and down like kites flying on the wind.  From out under the clusters of dirty snow, patches of thick brown mud and dead winter grass peppered across the yard. Still neither, blue sky or warm sunshine to nurture blooms of purple crocuses and yellow daffodils, they are buried beneath snow as I am cocooned in the confines of these four walls.