Although it is still quite cold, the trees in the park behind our house are getting dressed up for summer. Which should bring to mind the Philip Larkin poem with the line about the trees coming into bud, "like something almost being said"
Instead, all I can think of is that Lydia Davis micro-story called
Spring Spleen. It goes like this:
"I am happy the leaves are growing large so quickly.
Soon they will hide the neighbor and her screaming child."
(For more Lydia Davis, search out the book that
Spring Spleen comes from:
The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis, Penguin Books, ISBN 978-0-241-96913-7)
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