A broken tulip

.
.
.
This morning there was no one on the street.

Excuse me – that is not entirely true. There was a gray squirrel

mercilessly chasing his black brother through shrubbery while a calm mourning dove stood, mockingly reposed.

A little rattled (don’t blame him) the squirrel snapped and the dove took off in a diagonal streak as her cousins crackled applause from their perch on the telephone wires.

Dark starlings, self-appointed referees, bitterly called foul but then
disagreed, dodging each other as they tripped in rage through the Spring air, loud and full of nonsense.

By the time they had cleared off, my dears, the squirrels had disappeared and the chickadees bobbed their white-and-black heads, cheering (they are disposed to do that, you know).

Even the critters are stir-crazy.
.
.
.
Question: Are they “morning doves” or “mourning doves” (or as my friend’s little girl says, “morning ducks”)? Any way you call it, Spring is in the air! The lilac bush is budding and daffodils are poking out their sunny faces.