Place # 5 Settling back in

It seems like the cold spell's broken or at least enough to be tolerable again. 45 degrees is doable rather than insufferable and the sun is shining which allows me to indulge in the delusion that it's really warmer than I feel sitting out here on the stump.  All the snow's disappeared again and I can only hope it's not just another quick tease. The tan grass is in its full bland glory and matted down in places like greasy bedhead.

I've seen a few birds out here the last couple days, but maybe that have wriggled free from their straw blankets yet this morning or maybe my seeing them was another bout of selective spring fever. Who knows? The wind is blowing but not enough to be oppressive and it smells like some one in my neighborhood is burning their wet leaves. I can see the milky smoke puffing upwards and unfolding like an afghan, but I don't have the necessary motivation to find the source.  Instead, I lean back, almost forgetting that my stump has no back and enjoy the smell that it disperses across my otherwise wasteland-like landscape.

I look at my shed and wonder when the rabbits will make their next appearance, but guess it's not really feasible in terms of food for them to be out and about yet, especially because none of my dad's flowers have started to bloom yet. It's a yearly battle between them and one I don't understand. He could just not make us plant them and then the rabbits would not terrorize his precious, but untended flora.

The quiet right now is a little eerie and doesn't match the overall look of the day. It's the kind of day that suggests activity, but there is little to see. My neighbor lets her dog out, some kind of miniature beagle or weiner dog with a lot of yap in him. He rails against the garbage truck that grinds to a halt between our houses and let's me know I'd better get inside. I've been putting off going to work because I was out so late covering a story last night, but I think I'm pushing the boundaries of acceptable comp. time and better get to it. That school board story isn't going to write itself and for that matter, I don't want to write it either...not on a day that holds so much promise.

As I walk through my back yard to my deck two little gray birds--sparrows, perhaps-- flit after one another before settling on the rain gutter. They watch as I close the door on one world to enter another.