(with apologies to Said the Whale)
The sky is filled with high clouds, some white, some grey, some gold as the sun edges behind them toward the west. The wind pushes the water west to east, on the inner arm of an inner arm of an inner arm of a bay of Lake Ontario. Willow trees line the shore, stalks of old celery with less water and more time making them stretch towards the sky, the brown green fuzz of spring buds anointing their furthest limbs. Across the water the birch trees are still bare. The trees on the south shore get the spring light last; their leaves will take a few more weeks to appear. Yesterday was bright blue sky, no clouds, but the wind was stronger from the north. Today is warm and kind, the wind from the west, the sun a little harder to make out.