Spring is nature's way of saying "Let's party!". ~ Robin Williams

"Leticia and the Ladybugs is my favorite of favorite bands," said Jennifer the Jack Rabbit . She wiggled into a more comfortable perch on one of Charlie's humps. Bubba Byrd jumped up and down on Charlie's other hump. "How long now before the show starts?" "Settle down, Bubba," said his sister Bingo who sat on Charlie's neck. She turned to the Bactrian camel, "Thanks so much Charlie for letting us sit on you." "My pleasure, Bingo. I figure this is better than clinging to Ghandi's neck for a couple hours." "Oh, Charlie, you silly guy," said Bingo, flying up to Charlie the Camel 's head. "Yooo-hooo, Ghandi!" She had to call up to Ghandi the Giraffe a few times before she caught his attention. He was all nerves. He was responsible for getting the band to sign the contract to play at Thomas' and Winnie's wedding. He said, "I hope they'll let us into the band's dressing room!&q

Pop. Pop. Pop. The California poppies started showing themselves in the front yard about a couple of weeks ago. Every morning, a few more orange lovelies wave hello to the world. Totally grand. There are so many poppy plants in the meadow part of the yard that some are actually dying.  It doesn't help that fox tails, some kind of vetch vine, clover, and leftover overgrown lawn are also competing for soil, light, and water. Survival of the fittest. The daisy bushes have increased in size, more than I thought they could and would. They've infiltrated into the territories of the roses. Poor roses. Later this year I must decide whether to cut back the daisies or transplant the roses to their own dedicated section in the yard. Maybe next to the fence where I've sown sunflower and more wildflower seeds, which may not grow because the poppies are spreading out there, too.  We shall see. If you'd like to see the progression of the yard, click here .  I

My six-word poem is called a hay(na)ku, a poetic form created by Eileen R. Tabios. The basic format is this: First line = one word. Second line = two words. Third line = Three words.  If you'd like to learn more, check out Eileen's webpage .  In February I submitted three poems for the upcoming anthology, HAY(NA)KU 15 (working title). One of them was accepted. Whooo-hooo! The last time I had a poem published by someone other than me was. . .hmmmm. . .about 40 years ago.

I can hear the roar of the motorcycles in the near distance. Many of them are more than likely tourists and friends of local bikers who have come for the annual bikers' blessing held at the Catholic church earlier this afternoon.  Unless things have changed, the bikers take turns riding a short path on the church's parking lot. Either at the beginning or the end of the path (I can't recall), a priest sprinkles holy water on them as they pass by him. Competing with the motorcycles' engines and the whistling of the Spring wind is the every-so-often sound of children shouting and screaming. There are probably Little League baseball games happening at the nearby park. And while you're imagining it all, throw in the call from an occasional dog and crow. Bwark, bwark. Roooooooar. Cawwww, cawwwwwww. Yaaaaay! Wwwwwwwwwwwwind. Listen, an airplane—a single-engine craft, I believe—is flying over the house. That silenced everything else, for now. I'm linking