This Moment - May 8, 9:07 A.M.

A glut of leaves crowd the tree's branches as do the nascent buds, hinting of the blooms they have secreted within the cocoon of themselves. The cellphone is playing a sentimental concerto, demanding my attention. I ignore it as jeeps, trucks, and a host of cars speed down the street. A cyclist in flourenscet yellow tempts Fate by pedaling his vehicle down the middle of the street, as if encased in the same steel shell as the occupants of the cars, which slow down and indulge his hubris. He is saved for one more day, or for the small space he occupied in my life, viewed from my bedroom window. The cellphone insists. Again, I ignore the prevasiveness of technology, but only for a few more moments, curiousity and paranoia are surfacing. The dog is chewing a plastic bottle he has ferreted out of the trash. His young teeth are sharpening. He abandons the bottle for paper and rips, chews, ingests, until he tires of this and saunters out of the bedroom. He returns and stands before the French doors, then settles into a comma on the rug beside the bed. The world is alive and green. Even the weeds are welcome now that the hail, sleet, rain, and snow of the last week have departed. The apple tree's blush blossoms flutter in the slight breeze. A magpie, out on the front lawn, struts a semi-circle, bending to peck the ground at intervals, the black coattail of it's tail feathers jutting delicately up and down. It flies away.