me in the piazza

I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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Gray today

Flat sky, you really have to look for awhile to see the charcoal, the ash, the silver. But I'm done complaining, because raw and rainy as it is, the texture of the air has changed, and now it's really spring. The tulips, which have been up for weeks but refusing to open -- unlike the daffodils, which fell for the first sunny days and then shivered -- are finally showing marvelous colors. In the park near me they're planted by a dedicated, if slightly loopy, neighborhood committee, and this year they're about as thick as tulips can possibly be. I saw the bulbs go in last fall and wondered if this could really work, but boy, has it! Pale yellow, red, and red-and-yellow striped, all crowded together like the Tokyo subway. (That's for you, Patricia.) Gorgeous.

Down by the river, daffodils glow on the small hills in the park. In circles under the trees some tiny purple flowers have come up, in two colors, one deeper and bluer, one more violet and more pale. Each tree only has one kind, though, and the effect is calming and lovely.

Two gadwalls have claimed the water in front of my bench, despite the best efforts of a lone male mallard to either drive them away or mate with the female. These are probably the same gadwalls who successfully nested last year in the tall grass right by the path and park entrance. I scoffed at the possibilites of that spot, and I was completely wrong. They must be planning to do it again, as soon as the grass grows up. Meanwhile they paddle around and they sleep on the pilings, where they're joined by a pair of bachelor mallards, who hang together without females and seem perfectly happy. Well, it's the Village.

The Brant geese are pretty much gone, and the Canada geese are back by the dozens. Yesterday a bluejay spent some time in the backyard out my window where, in the sharp sun, he pecked at the tiny pink blossoms of a cherry tree in front of a pale green wall. I suspect him of knowing just how marvelous he looked, but I'll never prove it.

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