of Spring

I send fleeting, desperate thoughts
out through my morning window,
hoping to connect
with something beyond this cup of coffee
which warms my fingers,
but they cannot compete
against the hush of tires
on wet pavement
and instead
die
slowly,
hidden deep
in the beautiful
emergent
green
of Spring.

What I think in the moment between breaths

I have spent my life
cataloguing
the hues in a gray sky
and the diameter of raindrops
as they fall.
I have stood, arms outstretched,
measuring the time it takes
to achieve maximum saturation.
I have used calipers
to measure the wrinkles
on my toes caused by standing
in puddles for days.
And I have wondered,
if each drop could carry
a small bit of me,
how long would it take
for a Spring shower
to carry me
to Summer.

One Day, in the Woods

I imagine the woodpecker
to be tapping out a message,
which carries over time
and distance
to where Spring's love
lies buried,
captured
by Winter's bitterness
and distance
until
the woodpecker's rhythm
is joined by the blatting
of the cackling goose
and the calls
of small children
searching for first blooms.
So Spring stretches her arms
and runs a finger
down the back of Winter's neck
and he melts.

Why droplets of water cling to the underside of bare spring branches

-- for Domino

Gray skies

and wet winds

carry the hidden magic

of color

which they gift

to dormant grasses

and early spring risers

coloring them

in rich greens

and vibrant yellows.

Standing beneath

a bare maple

I focus through

a droplet of water

and see

a world of color

bent

and magnified

against an expanse

of glorious

wonderful

gray.

In Case of Gray

This first hard spring rain

has washed away my blue sky,

leaving mottled gray skies

where tendrils of melancholy

reach down

trying to touch my smile.

I fight back

with a yellow daffodil

clutched in my hand like a sword

and a running start across a field of

verdant green

sliding in

to cover my knees in sorrows mortal enemy-

grass stains.

I smile.

Victorious.

The trouble is, you run into people

Architectural flourishes
seem to bloom in the spring
as heliotropic humans
raise their eyes to the Sun
and notice
what has been there for generations.
Ornate corbels
supporting cornices atop buildings
where cantilevered windows
open like petals
under the Spring sun.
Pilastered walls
supporting porticos
to nowhere
and
names at the top
chiseled in relief
evoke memories
of a time
impossible
to remember.

Spring

As Spring settles
into her beauty
her song begins
to change --
Allegro to Andante.
She walks
hand-in-hand
with the gray
clouds
and long
slow breezes,
kisses you
with chills
in the morning
but loves you
with cool,
cloudless nights.
Only
for you.

The Expected Visit

Spring arrived this morning,
never mind the date.
Crisp air under gray clouds
breaking
just enough
to let sunlight play
its dancing games.
Shadows grow
off budding trees
while
patchwork patterns play
on puddles
where floating
petals spin
then stop,
their tips pointing
like stops on a compass.
Not North
but April.

After the Rain

Ten drops of rain remain on my window.
Each reflecting a world I cannot see.
Tiny details of life, now refracted
warped, then twisted and turned to fit the curves.

I think I spot the daffodils in bloom,
flavescent yellow under bluing skies.
My daughter's red wagon, wheels distorted.
A silver maple, begining to bloom.

Spring designs stencils for Summer to fill.
Painting them, first with rain, then with color.

Exit, Stage Left

Spring snow
nestles into eager blooms,
individual flakes
keeping their shape,
showing their beauty
against a backdrop
of what is to come.
A fitting dénouement,
as another beauty
dances
to center stage.

If the Guilt Fits

Seed catalogs arrive
bursting with good intention
and photo ready gardens
filled with fresh looking folks.
I try on my mid-western guilt
but it no longer fits
so I place the catalog
in a pot, outside,
and let the spring rains
make it swell
and bloat
and wrinkle
and return to pulp,
which I then sprinkle on my garden
filled with weeds
and good intentions.