April snuck by incognito

like nothing much, 

shrugging its way, March into May,  

with occasional snow and muddy feet.

a blur of days, a malaise,

of murk and purple and marsh

like an untended unmade mind.

But the strike of sun at 5:22a

puts an end to all that.

Now it's frenzy and flutter, 

force feeding tiny jaws 

from hard won scratch—

the insufferable squirrel 

having laid claim 

to the seed tray  

at first light.