A green haze envelops otherwise bare branches like sea fog clinging to the high-rises across the causeway, obscuring all but their outlines against a leaden sky. Clouds of pollen explode with each gust of wind, staining all it touches a stone-ground mustard. Older oaks shed piles brown and ropey flowers in favor of the bright green garments of their rebirth. Red maples bank their scarlet flames in favor of a cooler, coppery patina as the next generation of leaves unfold. Pine needles emerge in deep green clusters arranged like the fine brushstrokes of fur across a cat's face.
Puffs of dandelion ride the wind to fertile lodgings far from their ancestral homes. Tiny wasps dip and weave as they seek shelter from the storms of air between plentiful snacks of nectar. Crows battle headwinds to a standstill before turning their wings and returning to the destination of their departure.
As the wind quiets, cardinals share kisses in the naked myrtle after he offers her delicacies of seed. Blue swarms of jays with sunflower prizes flutter and hop among the dun bones of skeletal oaks. Squirrels climb and cling to the bare, tan trunk that supports the ceramic pool from which they drink while contorted like yoga masters setting a careful watch for the tiny panther that prowls their domain. Chattering a warning to brethren who scramble to safety, they scold their adversary as if victorious in a child's game of hide and seek. Their taunts turn to mourning the day he wins a round, a limp trophy swaying in his jaws as he retreats to the kingdom from which he came.
Below the drama, one lame dove with a club foot bobs across the yard, pecking up scraps cast down by her rivals, reminding me that spring sustains even the damaged among us as we struggle to overcome our limitations, sometimes flying where we cannot run.
© 2008 Edward P. Morgan III
