Something out there is stirring and opening a sleepy eye. It's growing and getting tangled and wild. We'll spend all summer pruning it back and tamping it down. Or trying to anyway.
It brings sudden storms.
And hints of toad song from ditches and creeks and ponds. That eternal trill. That constant sad note.
It moves the curtains in and out like breathing.
Everything is just coming to life and something about it haunts me.