Somehow—in
the early
spring, every-
thing begins both
to fade—and to
brighten. Even
the homeless
man on the
corner (whose ancient
face—used
to look
rough and obscure
as some frost-
battered birch) now frisks
and babbles
like fresh water—brighter,
but more
relaxed than before,
as he
no longer
begs for your
spare change—
but more
kind of
dares you
not to—fork
it over.
