spring

These days, on high, they pass in twos and threes. Gone are the fluid phalanxes of Canada geese, chattering like high school girls in some lit and littered mall.

Below, these days, two pigeons meet along one roof peak and do the love dance while on another, a solitary crow stands black against the sky and casts crafty glances at the three or four sparrows that share his perch at a careful distance.

The crow is patient: Who knows when these small birds might lead him to the nest where eggs await warmer days ... or perhaps his insistent beak? Not that the sparrows don't know the game. They, like their forefathers are prepared to swarm and swoop if this interloper shows up on their doorstep. Small they may be, but fierce as well ... and they are ready for the dance that must be danced.

Mourning doves and other assorted birds put in an appearance along the tree branches that show no leaves as yet. The wind will have to wait before it begins ruffling and adoring those undressed fingers. But everything seems to whisper, "soon." There are no buds along the branches, no shifted hue and yet, like some newly-pregnant woman, there is something different. Not exactly plump or flushed or gathering juices, yet different in her invisible focus ... the same, but different.

Soon.