Spring

Tidbit, mighty hunter, sits in the window, transfixed by the unattainable.  Dark-eyed juncos procrastinate lazily there, delaying their great northward march, and a pair of cardinals, happy from their experiences last year, has returned to taunt the mutant felid.  Oh, to be a creodont, huge jaws, slathering tongue, ferocious Oligocene hunter stalking the ancestral camel, the baby titanothere, fresh from its mothers massive teat.  And the youngster, asleep on the bed, sun playing over the blankets, dreams of mammae also.  Her expressions change like summer squalls rushing over a restless sea.  I feel like a gradeschooler, perfectly healthy, informing my mom of terrible illness, goldbricking my way through a lovely, quiet day.  The guilt is there, somehow, I should be at work finding caps for test tubes, or giving early exams for students who suddenly find the need to leave early on some spring break adventure.  Oh, lovely spring, you have waited so long to come and the impatient tulips press through the ground with measurable frustration at your tardiness.  Somewhere, in the briny deep, a deep salty current changes its course, fins flutter, and the descent of another ice age is determined.

Dear Ruby

Dear Ruby,
It will be a while before you are able to read this, but thank you for all the times you have stared into my eyes and, with all the meaningful gaze you could muster, stood on my chest and made conversation with me. I thought this would take years. No words, nonsyllbles in fact, but so much exchange of emotion. I was happy to enjoy the new Metallica album with you yesterday, and yes, those crunchy gallops were magnificent. Some of their best work, despite their age. Keep this in mind when you are playing as a teenager and I am an old man.
Love