It’s trash season again. What elsewhere would be called spring is the slow unveiling of 5 months of the dearly discarded. On our postage stamp of once green – I collect the unusual suspects – wrappers, a dirty diaper, newspapers and plastic bags. The city brings out the power hoses and the sidewalks return to their usual gray/brown. In another month, a season of looking at your feet for fear of falling on the salted slopes of ice and snow will be replaced with occasional glances toward the sky. The welcome return of birds and leaves and even bees. Windows will be rolled down. Music will return to the streets. And people too. All who lived cloistered in quiet hibernation. Ready for a rebirth. Ready for color and song to thaw the senses.