Twelve wild turkeys on their barnyard tour lumber from the woods
A late-winter haiku
The late March snowfall melts on Sunday: brown cows sprawl on matted grass
Spring pulls back the rug points at winter's housekeeping and wields a fierce broom. ____________________
Fling open the door: the wind blows cold but we hear chickadees and as the snow peels back smell mud a hint of greening and Spring's buds inching toward light. Impatient to be out of its woolens and flaking cells our skin clamours to be bared against soft sun, our hair daydreams of a ruffling … Continue reading Mad for a moment
The air bites, sharp as Winter's kiss. But wait: Geese will arrive, necks stretched, wings spread, pulling a softer wind to wrap our fresh-bared skin. ____________________
Spring Equinox, gone - Summer Solstice, scant days past. Now the goodbyes start.
Young lettuce beckons. Waked, startled, night's small spiders step back as I pick.
Morning rains end, green cups liquid gems, geese lift off, dawn sighs and stretches.
His bright voice swoops through bare branches, spreads across the grass, Woosh, and he sits on the wood fence head bold as a warning throat an unquenchable fire wings like an ambush Zooming across the garden to his brown-and-rose mate at the top of the stark old maple he proclaims the day's beginning.