Like waves sucked out to sea, the snow recedes from the field and yard. No crashing surf or crackle of sea foam decaying, only the birds declaring their presence and post.
The road erupts in cycles of flowing mud and icy freeze, as day defers to night and night to day: its Rotten Island!
Charlie goes outside for longer prowls; spring training for the coming summer of carnage.
A plum tree girdled by hungry teeth, will in exchange for this mini-meal certainly die.
The maple sap slips out the spouts as springtime ticks away. Here is the syrup of time distilled.
Oh, alright......, your car goes to Ernie's on Monday and we haven't looked into the fuse thing yet.
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