Is spring here, finally?

Last week, the random patches of white cold stuff vanished from the hillside rhododendron patch, a line of daffodils emerged from somewhere south of Hades, and birds sang.

All are signs of spring and, well, with the turmoil spewing from the District of Columbia, we could all use a shot of good news.

So here goes. What do rocket ships, space travelers and happy endings have in common?

For a moment, and maybe a few ticks more, the world focused upon a tiny speck of light dancing deep into our TV screens.

It was Artemis II, the school bus-sized capsule, home to a quartet of astronauts, who blasted off, flew around the world, then sailed into space to rendezvous with the moon. They flew for 10 days, circled that old orb, slid away from its gravity, and headed home.

On Friday evening, we watched the tiny speck of light grow into a larger image, sprout a trio of red parachutes that slowed her from 24,000 to 20 mph, and gently splash into the Pacific a few miles off San Diego.

As she bobbed in the gentle waves, we watched Navy divers and others attach flotation gear to her waist, inflate a colorful raft, and help the astronauts out of the capsule. While attendants performed the assigned tasks, the astronauts, Reid Wiseman, Jeremy Hansen, Victor Glover and Christina Koch, lounged against the rails like a pod of tourists waiting for an umbrella drink and some munchies. Then the choppers arrived, and they were hoisted up into the belly of the whirling beasts and flown to a nearby landing ship.

Meanwhile, NASA talking heads told us how important the mission was, that it marked the first major American space flight in 50 years, and how it was the first step to a moon landing and the ultimate construction of a moon base station.

Gee, Capt. Kirk. What would Spock say?

Those of us who can still remember the 1950s sci-fi tales of Robert Heinlein and grew up watching cheesy space tales on clumsy, round-screen TVs always knew that everything would turn out well. We all know it doesn’t always turn out well in real life.

Many of us still remember watching in horror as the space shuttle Challenger disintegrated into smoke, killing seven, including a teacher in space specialist, Christa McAuliffe.

Memories of that mission, plus that of the 1970s aborted Apollo 13 flight, where the crew calmly radioed home: “Houston, we have a problem.” That event glued us to our TVs, and we pulled together, hoping for success. Somehow, the three astronauts got the machine back on track and barely made it back home safely.

I guess those shaky memories propelled us all to hold our breath last Friday until the chutes opened and the capsule splashed down safely on Mother Earth.

That was good news for us all. And we needed some.

Besides the fantastic success of the space adventure, the other bit of weekend good news had to do with golf, yes, golf. No, not that golf venue guarded by the Secret Service.

Once upon a time, a wise clergyman was asked what heaven looked like, and he responded with one word: Augusta.

In his mind, the lush fairways, picturesque bunkers (not sand traps, please), maddeningly challenging greens, flowering bushes, placid ponds framed by tall Georgia pines at Augusta National Golf Club are the closest visual thing to the promised land.

For four days every spring, we watch the best golfers in the world challenge those pristine fairways and undulating greens at a tournament called simply, The Masters.

As we watch the best of the best navigate narrow driving alleys, aim for greens on the edge of picturesque creeks, and chop out of deep bunkers, we marvel at their skill.

Most of us will never have a chance to challenge the course. Most of us could never break 100 at Augusta on our best day. And despite the thousands of patrons lucky enough to score a ticket, our chances of getting admitted are slim to none. It is called the toughest ticket in all of sports for a reason.

So, we sat on the couch, sipped iced tea, noshed on some munchies, and fantasized about walking alongside a scrambling Rory McIlroy, low-scoring Cameron Young, and marveling at Shane Lowry’s hole-in-one.

And later, hurray, the Red Sox won.

Last weekend, for a few moments, we sat on the couch and were distracted from troubling events, including POTUS picking a fight with the Pope, war in the Middle East, and soaring gasoline prices.

And that, dear friends, was Good News.