This Moment: March 23 11:53 P.M.

The sky is littered with clouds. Lazy spring snow falling in an ashen halo. The tree is glutted with magenta buds preparing to burst. The sun is back, but I have yet to give my sadness back to the passing season. A rhomboid of blue emerges from between dense clouds. I am offered a fleeting glimpse of the new season. Light is there in the distance. All I must do is reach for it, grab it, eat it, let it fill me up. The basil plant on my desk reaches for the sun, unafraid to lean toward its desires. A lone helicopter breaks the silence and passes overhead on its way to the local hospital. The clouds shift and muscle out the sky.