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Earthy smell of fresh
mud awakens winter-dulled
senses like coffee.
Lulled by summer’s false
start, forty degrees reminds
us that April lies.
Like eyes heavy with
grief, grey clouds spill a steady
patter of sorrow.
Tightly furled like clenched
fists, tentative red-tipped buds
sway on bare branches.
Like green periscopes
tiny shoots peer from muddy
beds searching for sun.
Night pushed back, a dark
blanket kicked aside as the
sun stays wide awake.
Stark trees hide flowing
sap like a dormant love that
awakens in spring.
Snowpack seems solid
but underneath, droplets sing
of melting caverns.
Soon, darkness recedes.
But tonight I wrap myself
in velvet-starred black.
Flat mapped names turn in-
to forested hills, roads wind
towards adventure.
And so summer goes
like fishing line cast into
swift moving waters
When’s the right time to
wash winter blankets? Last night
I saw snowflakes fall.
Dog is lagging yet
clear skies pale green leaves urge me
to linger longer.
Rake leaves left over
from fall. Clean porch furniture.
Spring into action.
An unexpected
crocus emerges, smiling
from a brown leaf pile.
Florida is the
cheese at the end of the maze
known as air travel.
Ph.D.s waitress
here, M.A.s babysit, ’cause
no one wants to leave.
Hills like cut paper
black against tissue blue skies.
Through poked holes, stars shine.
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.
Hats, gloves, put away
in optimism return
for winter’s last gasp.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
the constant dripping
nature’s tears of joy as she
sees her world reborn
The equinox means
equal night and day worldwide
yin and yang of light.
Days grow longer like
smiles that stretch wider as one
greets a long lost friend.
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