Spring comes early along the coast, rolling in off the ocean on salt sweet winds and gracing the inner territory with soft bright greens and ethereal fogs. He welcomes the warming light of dawn, the cheerful chirp of birds and bugs alike as he lingers along the edges of his lonely territory. He does not mind the solitude; the ocean is vast and deep and dark and he remembers eons spent drifting alone in endless blue like they were a dream. The birds have come to know him, well enough to take liberties with his person as they alight on his haunches to pinch out bits of his winter coat for their nests rather then waiting for him to itch the loosened hairs off himself. Were he given to dramatics, he would fancy himself a forest god as he stands wreathed in fog in the morning light, baby crows turning his mane into a a jungle gym as they dangle themselves from the dark strands while their parents preen on his dark rump.