Rumors of Spring

Greening trees thatch back a tattered sky. The cock-a-hoop of Cardinals, roosters and cawing crows all kicking-up patches of sound, ruddy periods in the catchy sonics, canorous stops and starts. all in a catawampus. I am far from song yet. my ears are bats hung from chilly temples, but I do feel a coyote-itch a hitch and twitch of subliminal nooky, My springs are unwinding in the imminent offing. I do imagine bosky blooms upon the hairy chops of whistle pigs, and conjure getaway goslings gandering, all within a fuzzy feathering of a new-fluffed season. I do.