This Moment: April 21, 2012

Two robins in the cedar pine, are locked in a territory battle, wings fluttering, their small bodies spiraling from branch to branch. Another bird is clucking a knock knock knock while another sounds a trill. I am on the side deck with the dogs. The small dog escaped earlier and ran to the neighbor's. I found him on the back lawn, excitedly sniffing the female air, his nose pressed through the cast iron dog run, with Buffy, a blond toy poodle watching his efforts with disinterest. A small chartreuse aphid is crawling up and down my phone. I am writing with only my index finger so I won't smash it by mistake. A red-orange plane flies overhead to the west. The sky is a piercing blue with a plane's backwash a white bisecting streak, separating north from south. We have moved to the back lawn for a better view if our small world of runners, bikers, and steady traffic. The small dog is yipping his complaints, straining against his tether. The old dog is settled under the willow, scratching her right ear with her back paw. She leans into the dappled light. A dove is crying its dirge from the cherry tree, then is silent. The hay field behind my home looks like a sheet cake frosted with bright green icing. A small plane buzzes and dips eastward. The Rockies are tipped with snow. The snow horse will soon reveal itself in the crevices as the snow melts. I have sat too long. The day and its needs, await.

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