We walk the trails
and I hear the trees talk
creaking screeches
from beneath the bark.
Their sap song
celebrates spring.
We hear, wondering
what stories creaking sap sings
and wishing we grasped more meaning,
while thankful that at least
we sense their flowing feelings
about spring.
42 Red-winged blackbirds along the little lake
5 herons in the marsh
1 eagle keeping watch on the foreshore
21 robins in the neighbour’s trees
a pair of house finches back in our blue spruce
Spring calling in the dawn and dusk
Twittering joy on the wind.
(Napowrimo day 29 is about describing a scene out a window, but this morning I was standing in a doorway observing, so I’ll use that moment).
This morning outside my door,
cacophony of small birds
catcalling to the universe:
Oooh baby! Look at me!
Our place! Get away!
Twittering spring tumult
screeches and titters.
The world persists,
though you have ceased.
Outside my window: blue sky, new green.
Promise and potential
A future of fecundity.
Inside my heart: fog, ice
You are gone
The planet is too joyful
for such a day.
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NaPoWriMo Day 26.
The prompt today was for a humorous parody, but as I received the news of the death of another dear person in my life this weekend, humour is not on my mind. 4 great losses in 10 months. What a wearisome year this has been.
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Outside the window
new green
We walk by in masks
waiting for vaccine
Spring is a time
for hope
Another year on a
slippery slope.
Daffodils bursting
from the soil
Politics and a pandemic
embroiled
Breathe.
Take care.
We’re almost
there.
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NaPoWriMo Day 22 A little contrast between the hope of spring and the stress of rising numbers of infected folks, including a friend.
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Geese call
mournful fly past.
The year is reborn
Why does my heart
hear autumn’s sorrow?
Oh my!
Blue sky!
If only the promises could be true
that this is is just a preview.
Has spring finally arrived?
Balmy day
they said.
I shiver in my sweater, wondering
if the air in my classroom is actually warm.
Outside, clouds climb the mountain
I wish I were in front of a fire,
clutching a cup of cocoa,
wrapped in a blanket and your arms.
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(Let’s hope spring will come soon. I am weary of winter weather).
What an unexpected gift
revealed by retreating snow:
crocuses planted so long ago
Finally bloom when w most need
symbols of hope.
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(True story. I planted a couple of dozen crocuses into the front lawn in the early 2000s when we first bought this house. The bloomed on their own for three or four years before they stopped – likely victims of hubby’s herbicide. Suddenly, after so many years, 2 popped up this year!)
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Oh false friend!
Yesterday, blue skies smiling sweetly,
warm sun embraces,
led to
short sleeves and picnic tables.
Today, an inch of new snow tops the table
and sky is full of malice,
tiny shards of ice,
stabbing the heart of spring.
Winter wins another round.
Shawn L. Bird 