Surveying my environment, I see
a harbinger, appearing to embody
now: a squirrel ten feet up a tree,
supporting in his mouth a large biscotti.

That cookie’s winter fare – it’s not a food
suggesting February leads to spring.
And yet the rodent demonstrates a mood
rambunctious, hungry, vernal. Everything
conspires to encourage me to gaze
around at green, above at spanking blue,
for suddenly the sun is back, the days
are gaining time and birds are trilling too.
An avaricious squirrel seems to chide
that luck won’t come to those who stay inside.