the crickets have returned with arrhythmic, staccato bleating into the warm evening air like a panic. so warm I’ve turned off the heat in my home. all wakings these mornings full of birdsong. this classroom a traffic of twittering teens, surrounded by cheeps chirping in trees. bright blooms in the desert cry joyous blush and regal hues. raucous little celebrations scattered among the greys and khaki rock. spring might as well be screaming: come play

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