Today it wasn't a cardinal that crossed my path but an American goldfinch not buff but canary yellow unmistakably male first alighting on burdock and then pumping himself into a pine having greeted the cardinal in similar ways in days gone by I was prepared for the surprise of the wild canary and paused to take in this little gift sure to keep the ribbon and the wrappings with the image and the feelings tucked into the pocket of my anorak safe with my notebook there to trigger my memory were she forgetful or stubborn beyond the forgivable laziness and Spanish onion skin that is memory.

While I am not Hansel or Gretel and never expected anyone to leave me a breadcrumb trail so I could find my way back to you yet there was a trail of sorts more piquant than pepporcorns more subtle than bergamot left to my own devices I instinctively followed the blooms made a fetish of purple and took my chance with nothing to lose but the try and so I began letting the flowers show their petals forth proud as pansies morning glory or braided like pigtails Winter vetch and socially awkward as Western aster aster's sister plainly plaintive chicory other flowers figured forth to point the way most of them thistles or so I thought I don't know if it's because of natural selection or the survival of the fittest or because certain adaptations are so successful that it doesn't make any sense to imagine that there should be others or could be others or disappointed with what presents itself and is just there to see and s...