Aurel's laurels

There is still snow on the southern side of our yard, underneath the fence.

I notice funny, dry buds. Were they there all winter, my eyes blind to them?

I stopped to look at a squirrel and it stopped to look at me as if it was wondering if I would give it some food.

I also stopped for a delicious three minutes in the middle of all the hubbub at Yonge and Dundas. I watched a spot on the sidewalk over which a tiny piece of paper blew and listened to all the noises including a fire engine and a small man playing a long eastern string instrument with a bow. At dusk I stole some lines from Hopkins:

I caught this evening

In sunset's glory

The jet stream high

Of a silver fish

As it swept smooth on a bow bend.

Would it approach the moon

Sleeping on her back

High there

Or disappear

In transparent clouds?

I have pink eye and now it is bothering me.