When the wind is mean, it shouts the last of Winter's husks down the street. Pigeon feathers and bits of golden grass swirl in the corners. The budding trees toss against the Sky. When the wind is sweet, and the Sky is a thick dollop of blue, the evergreens stand as the sentinels to Spring. They are still the only green in the landscape. But, as the length of day and night evens, as shadows thaw and burst with the new growth of wild mustard and iris blades, the horizon once again crowds with elm and cottonwood and oak. And the new grass creeps in at the edges.