Birds have a new wake-up time.  They seem to love it no matter how early She peeks over the trees to the east.  Tiny leaves pushing out of woody impossible branches.  Chartreuse shades appearing along the familiar routes as if it was the first time.  Bundles of layered blossoms hanging from gnarly trees along the sidewalk.  Flowers for angel bouquets.

What a disappointment that I have this human brain that keeps coloring my world with disappointment and dredging up what I don’t have, don’t feel.  Rather than being filled with wonder at myself–a human merely being in a brilliant bursting excitement of renewal.  Despite death, purging, destruction and despair–is spring.  After countries disappear and history is buried–there is spring.  Governments collapse, timeless monuments dissolve into the earth–and there, right here, in front of me now–is spring.

Let me breathe only spring today.  Let me be that hanging cluster of soft pink petals.  I claim the magnificent shining of a daffodil and the impossible red of a tulip.  I am the tiniest violet that sneaks through dirt and rocks to open and grin at spring.