This morning, sunshine beams un-self-consciously crashing violently against darkness Springtime does not mean any offense, did not intend to interrupt despair contradict anxiety. Audacious. She cannot help herself. Springtime expands and protrudes and infiltrates where she has not been invited with light and color and sound. Like a child too eager to realize she’s shrieking Springtime declares herself railroading over misery interrupting us; we, who cannot find a way out of death. This morning, hope always just out of view bombards me violently.