What was a grey and clouded pre-dawn has turned blueblueblue in its day-ness. A lone wasp buzzes around the porch and is immune to my suggestions that it dip from its ceiling veldt and make through the open door to the sunshine outdoors. Across the street my neighbor's Tree of the Hanging Squirrels has popped the nothingness of its winter branches and has created a thousand somethings that are its Japanese Maple leaves.
The sunshine is bragging in the street and across the rooftops. A solid spring day.
I keep hoping to see Doreen, the owner of the house with the Tree of the Hanging Squirrels. She has spent the winter fighting cancer, but today, without seeing her, I did hear her signature laughter -- a delighted cackle about one thing or another. Doreen is there and I am here. Spring is all present and correct. There has been changes -- Doreen battling her trolls, I battling mine -- but spring has not lessened its laughter. Perhaps I will go and buy Doreen a flower and plant it surreptitiously in the garden she keeps at the front of her house but has not tended that I know of.... just to piss her off a little that anyone would dare to touch her hallowed ground. A neighborly thought, I figure.
Spring. Sun. Leaves. Pissing people off.
Somebody's gotta sing the song.