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Carried on the wind, the distant skirl of pipes must mean the funeral of another Irish cop at the church three blocks away across the park. First day of Spring this year, regardless of the calendar-- buds on the kinkos, purple crocuses with yellow tongues, daffodils, unkempt wisteria. The piper plays a reel. Must be a wedding. Rice. A fructifying breeze. Hello to sunlight.