Daffodils and Crocuses

The daffodils and crocuses bloomed last week in the early spring.“Another season of fucking around,” I accuse myself while shoveling dog shit in the yard.A male cardinal punches through the thick malaise settling behind my eyes.He pauses on the nearby branch —not noticing me —an inconsequential set-piecein his struggle for survival.The shock of his harrowing red feathers and delicate movements interruptsthe multiple charges echoingthrough my skull’s kangaroo court.The cardinal jerks his head once, twice, thrice and my cover is blown.I am left alone with the scandalous gift of one clear thoughtperhaps as with the spring, so it is with meI have overlooked something beautiful.