Aging skater boy, leaning back on his board in the curve.

And what are these? Baby magnolia? Cheerful as daisies, they try and try.

In this heat, the children emerge on bikes and on blankets. Pushed in strollers and carried in their parents’ arms.

Another dead squirrel where I saw one at the equinox. The first was thin and frozen, this one fat and lustrous. Spring progresses.

The goose brigade is out. What’s this fellow doing, solo in the cul de sac of the lake? Green, gentle water; he sips and he honks. Teenagers at the wall honk back at him.

Heron with a fish in its mouth, swallowing. He stabs and stabs, and down the gullet it goes at last. Old man heron with his question mark neck.