MARCH

This morning, the sound of a generator chugging by the side of the yard, powering a higher whirring–which I guess that was the sound of the apple trees blossoming. One of them is succeeding–its licheny twigs are covered with little white flowers that might even be opening a little to the gray sunlight; the other one has a single tuft of blossoms that it cradles between two branches like it hurts. Does it have to do this again? And the bees? Fruit trees age quickly. Everything wants them. And the nights being warmer now, corners appear habitable again.