Cold gray mornings listen to the birdsong of mid-March and slips of tulips push through the ground as we zip and button our winter coats.
Woodpeckers hammer hollow branches within the maples, sweet gum and oaks along Walnut street marking
the territory of our routine walk.
The time of day points to spring and a sharp breeze reflects snow against the tattered old elm and the weeping spruce moves in interpretive dance.
A new season sounds within snow showers and daylight saving time. The sky layers seven shades of gray and snow falls white as sprinkles drip wet on the dog's back.
In this moment with snowflakes the size of duck feathers we are silent within sound visions of magic---
Birdsong as silver shards rain as hollow drumming mixes as thunder vibrates the snowy sky far within, above, pushing us home.
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