Sunlight streaming down, Gentle breeze disturbs new leaves, Spring's awakenings.

My groping hand shoved Away once more from delight-- Supple joys denied.

I am blooming late: Dreams from youth now realized. I suppose it's fate.

Raking on Sunday: Leaves observe no one's Sabbath; Neither, then, shall I.

Aeolean muse, Sing to me your dulcet tones: Windchimes in autumn. (I actually heard the first three notes of this piece on my windchimes and the whole thing unfolded from there.)

Pungent aroma, Skunk versus car, skunk loses. Mommy won't come home.

Sundays in the park: Drumming, traffic, sweet birdsong, Lovely car alarms.

First day of April: I have played so many tricks. Who is the fool now?

New swallow's lessons: "Before you learn how to crawl, you must learn to fly." I learned after writing this that swallows DO actually crawl around in the nest before they take the plunge. Oh well. You learn something new every day.

Sometimes I surprise Even myself. So many Masks; which one to choose?