River East, Chicago, March 2009: Warm enough today to sit--in the sun--without a jacket. The papery-looking ice floes that even yesterday were bumping against each other on the river next to the slip are gone. Ducks are trawling the water in tinily calibrated bits for bugs, seagulls are sassy slowly-floating poop bombs overhead, perky urban doggies strain on their short leashes. The world is saturated with dirt, rather as if the sidewalks and buildings had been under a giant winter flood, and now the waters have receded, leaving soaked-in mud and wetness behind. Dick's Last Resort is closed, so the ducks get fewer Bits and there are no more packs of people in twisted paper condom hats walking around. Also gone: winter weather, for the moment (it's Chicago), and the earth-shaking construction noise from the Spire, now on hold. The sky is still full of cranes and scaffolding, although this noise seems cheerier. The world smells damp and hatching.