Category: Spring 2024

The lake is nearly still, and standing
on its bank, I am captivated by its colors.
Mostly it’s deep green, but the low sun
sends dazzling gold through the pines
that streaks the lake’s surface between
ribbons of russet and brown where the trunks
of the trees are reflected. I gaze
at it for a long while before I notice
the chunks of white that line the shore
across from where I’m standing. Ice,
my mind says. The last of it. But then,
all at once, a loud honking rips
through the air and the ice
transforms into fat ducks that push off
from the shore and paddle in graceful rows
into the lake’s smooth green, stirring its colors
as if they were artists and the water
their paint.

On your way out the door, smile.
Let your grin linger on the threshold
for a while and roll across the floor
just to let them know, as you leave,
how good it was to be there. Give
them a picture of you to hold
when they think of you
in your absence, when they think
of your coming for another stay.

The squirrel munches away on the corn
that my neighbor put out for him
as she had all winter, his nose twitching
as he sniffs the uncommonly warm air.
He knows what’s coming next, and it’s more
than rain and leaves. It’s the reason why
he breathes. It’s the spark that lights
his fire, the thing that puts the spring
into his leap. It’s the birds and the bees
and the girls in the trees. And he smells
it in the air, and it’s right around the corner.

Some irresistible part of puddles
calls to toes, even those of giants.
Maybe it’s the sheer muddiness,
the squish, the wet, the way
It lets you feel glued to the ground
and still free to wiggle.
Maybe it’s the way the puddles show you
how you look against sky, or the fact
that they sing of spring and bring
forth worms and tadpoles. Maybe
it’s the here-today-gone-tomorrow
part of them that makes you think
you’d better wade right in while
the wading’s good. Toes know.
They hear the call. And in they go.
It’s irresistible.

Sploosh! Now there’s a sure sign of spring–
car tires swishing through puddles on the road,
spraying the sooty heaps of snow into oblivion.
And the puddles themselves are proofs too,
mirroring the budding trees and the dance
of the ever-changing clouds in the high sky.
There’s no stopping it now. It’s here, come what may.
Why, I can almost hear the peepers singing.
Soon now. It won’t be long.

Okay, little lamb. You did it.
Laying there in the new grass,
your baby hooves tucked up,
your ears poked out, your face
wearing that little lamb smile,
you stole my heart. My eyes
send you pets as warm as
this new spring sunshine,
and I sing you welcome,
little one. Oh, baby!
You stole this old girl’s heart.

Although seas roar and winds howl,
in this space Mother Nature preserves the calm.
Here, she provides a nook where peace reigns
and the seasons bow to life’s demands
for security and shelter.  We are holding
the calm for you, sing the reeds and and waters and trees,
for you who are in the midst of great storms.  We are holding
beauty for you who are beset with chaos and destruction. 
We send you the warmth of the early spring sun, and hope,
and the promise that, always, after the storms,
calm awaits, serenity returns. 

When I went out to feed the birds this morning
I heard myself breathing the word, “spring!”
Undeniably, and all at once, it was here,
with its perfume and its light, its pastel hues
and puddles and song, and in my heart
the welling joy.

This afternoon the first crocuses opened,
a pretty little pair, a royal confirmation
right here outside my door.