Hark, the harbingers of spring! Soft flapping in warming breeze, the hint of blossoms. Look there! The harebell flap of forlorn Toronto Star, blue-bagged February 10th before the storm – It’s pale headlines crumpled, limp with damp Thursday news. Beneath the salt-rimmed scarf of plow-torn turf and filthy corn snow crusted against the plow-chipped curb peek blushes of Era weekly flyers flowering paper furl of petals amidst the melt and ciggy butts. Unscooped poop of mutts long gone, mute testament to master’s unneighbourly neglect – round rabbit calling turds, the tumbled mounds of crap exhume with swaths of cheery red buds writ large from Loblaws beneath the ruin of chewed up shrubbery. Lo! Here a brace of golden Avon sacks cling pale, unbeautiful under…

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