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.