Spring Story

Those first lines
now forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry
of life’s business.
That first daffodil,
kingfisher call,
thick leaf buds—
gone.
That first day
without fire,
cardigan, shoes,
all folded away
in the envelope marked
spring!

This letter,
page two, reads
clover up to the knee,
a racket of birds,
everything speckled
and unfurling.
Now it’s first roses,
lilac-scented winds
and blossom fall.
The cuckoo is back,
the rhubarb up,
the hedgehog is awake
and stretching.

And still the earth writes on,
pages three,
four, more
tossing petals,
like parchment
in the breeze.