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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River report

Finally, spring.

The brant geese are still here, but the buffleheads and mergansers have gone back north. Before they left the bufflehead males got quite testy, chasing each other away from the various females, who looked on with interest. I don't know whether they mate down here, or just pair up and save the action for the arctic, but they clearly knew spring had arrived. The snowdrops were little life savers, coming up when everything was still gray and brittle and looked like it would be that way forever. Crocuses came about a week and a half ago but never really had their moment of glory because though it was warm, it was also gray and rainy. Now that the sun's out everything else -- daffodils of all kinds, even tulips -- are charging up out of the soil, all crowded together because it's so late. The stark modernist tree-branch tracery is now all fuzzed up with tiny dots, and the red maples are covered with crimson buds. Robins argue over the best nesting spots, the blue jay behind my apartment sounds like a squeaky clothes line, and the cardinal insists on landing on the fire escape and making Bella the Cat crazy. The magnolia out back is considering blooming, and the ones in the park are doing that already.

What a long winter, what a beautiful spring!

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