is for the short, stout girl I passed this morning whose gait and cocky plummage taught me why the British call them “birds”.
is for the dual undulating artery blockages that obstructed the mid-section of the streetcar I thankfully missed.
is for the foppish dandy whose unseemly insertion into the lunch line was set aright by his roti during its inaugural cut as it tossed a healthy amount of curry and karma onto his fancy threads.
is for unsullied spring.
I know, technically I’m a couple of weeks late, but when the buds on the trees and the sprouting Crocii eclipse such an unique day, isn’t that worth noting?