Morning Rush

Etched against the gray/blue morning sky outside my window, cold wet tree branches reach out, etch-a-sketching their winter story. Rain drops begin a random descent to the earth and pause briefly on each branch’s twigs. The sunlight reflected within every drop’s tenuous grip flashes a coded message: though a distance away as the calendar speaks, spring is coming. Two nervous hummingbirds stop in the dogwood, itself a study in contemplation, all bark and no bite. The first short-winged bird pauses a quarter second longer than its partner, which quickly goads it back into flight. Hummingbirds are always first in line for coffee.

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