In the cool of an almost spring morning, the sun promises another day the will help to melt the lingering and soiled piles of snow. The boy and girl cardinals that live across the street flit here and there, gathering bits and twigs. Occasionally they call out. Spring is en route, but the last snow storm of the season is probably waiting in the wings.
All this, though I've seen and heard it before, interests me. Its freshness never ceases, somehow. It is like some old friend or piece of music ... new at every turn, although anyone might hum along.
On a Buddhist bulletin board I read words like "enlightenment" and "compassion" and "rebirth" and "wisdom" and ... well, the litany goes on and on. All good encouragements, for sure. And yet my interest-animal lies curled at my feet like some snoozing cat. I don't really care ... I don't mind, but I don't care. If some breath-to-breath person were to exercise his or her tongue and spit out such words, I guess I would rouse myself a little ... if only to notice the pretty plumage and the advent of yet another spring.