Thin, green shoots popped
up without anyone noticing.
They are lovely in contrast

with the brown pine needles.
Yesterday, they weren’t there
and today they are all over

the place. They are like the
Chocolate Lab. He is on a
schedule. He pops up at

seven-fifteen in the morn-
ing, as he did this morning,
whether he is in Phoenix or

Park Township, MI. Three
hours difference makes no
difference to him. It does to

us. It has to do with the
the sun’s popping up. The
Jonquils are on a schedule,

a perennial one. At just
the right time each year
they are beckoned by the

sun and they rise, too.
I walk around the shoots
as I follow the dog. The

Chocolate Lab, who pop-
ped up at seven-fifteen and
shook his body making

sufficient noise to wake the
dead just walks all over those
Jonquils on his way to do

his business. Afterward, he
stomps all over them again
in a hurry to get to the back

door and then the kitchen
to get his breakfast. Every-
one and everything are on

a schedule and it’s all con-
nected to the sun popping
up. It’s time for me to make

a pot of coffee, smell the
wonderful aroma of the
percolating beans I ground

yesterday, watch the sun as
it rises over the sand dune.
Soon the oak trees on the

dune will bud and every-
one will say, “Oh, look.
The trees are budding,” as

if it were happening for
the first time, kind of like
being pleasantly surprised

by the Jonquils, but it all
has to do with the sun pop-
ping up every morning

like dumb robins in spring
heat colliding with their
reflections in our windows,

as I sit sipping coffee.