Every day the black tongue of open water stretches further along the frozen river. The skin of ice crumples. Sparrows and chickadees, nuthatches and magpies chirrup and cherrilee, squawk and warble with blood warming. Global warning. The early spring makes me uneasily happy….

A gift horse can still bite off your fingers. 

I had been prepared to live locked in Edmonton snow until the end of April. Lions and lambs aside, woodchucks long gone, March is upon me, a week passing me by while I was still looking over my shoulder at February. 

Holy smokes! 

Forms to fill, deadlines to meet, the rush and thrum of blood’s constant flow. It’s a good time to start a new poem. Write the first paragraph of a new short story. Book projects are such long-term commitments…. Sometimes all I want is a kiss.

Like that.