The birds are singing the rivers are rising

The last few days I have been going on huge walks around this town I love, Ypsilanti. I am a regular walker but during the winter when there is snow on the ground the sidewalks can be dangerous, cause there are a lot of absent landlords in this town and their tenants do not seem to know how to lift a shovel. So the sidewalks get slickery and my long walks get reduced to running Pookah in the park and walking her around a few streets rather than many.



On Sunday K and Pookah and I walked and walked. We walked down to the Huron River and through the park and through frog island and over the railroad tracks and down one of the oldest streets in Ypsilanti and back around through all of it. It was delightful to be out in the cold air—yes it is still colder than warm—taking in that faint smell of spring on the air.



Even though we got blasted with another 8 to 10 inches of snow on Friday night, the daffodils and crocuses have begun their sturdy ascents toward the light. And the smell of greenness and new life is faintly fusing to the atmosphere.

In these moments of surrounding our heads and hearts with the coming of the growing season, we have also been doing another kind of planting. Sunday night we slung some more sperm (3.5 ccs—which wowed my socks off) into my kk’s sweet spot. We will inject again tonight.

Our hope is resting on the life that is shaking off the thawing soil and breaking through for a gasp of light and the birds who are returning and opening their voices to the day—chirping us through the mornings and singing sleepy tunes in early evening.

May more life come with the rising rushing rivers and the longer days.

May life mix through the fluids of the bodies involved in this life making process.

May it work this time around.