Let me read it to you:
You arrived as promised, with your full blooming Moon
and a day warm enough to sit with the Sun.
I sat in the yard with barren feet,
soaking up some much-needed vitamin D.
By evening, you brought nourishing rain.
The Crocus gained an inch or more.
Their smiling faces opened wide—
patches of purple, gold and white.
This morning I woke to a symphony of song.
The Chickadees seem especially grateful,
their medley of notes softly dipping and diving
between branches of budding Maples and Elms.
Along my walk, I passed a glistening trail—
evidence of a brave and curious snail.
A Pussy Willow branch caught my eye,
each furry tuft capped with a bit of shell.
They looked like cat claws climbing the stalk.
Another Willow bloomed golden dust.
Each tiny stamen bursting with pollen,
patiently waiting to be carried by a breeze.
They didn’t wait long before the wind blew in,
displacing warmth with a bitter chill.
I was reminded how this is your way. You tempt us
with blue skies and sunny days,
then suddenly shift into blustery cold. Even so,
you leave signs of hope.
Praise for the Crocus and early blooming Willows.
Praise for the Snowdrops and the courage of Snails.
Praise for each patch of blooming color,
each inch of growth, every sign of green,
every bird song billowing out from the trees.
Praise for these pockets of renewal and hope,
helping me ride the winds of March.