Red wing black bird calls
almost a rusty squeak, and then a thunk, and ending
with an up note—
Just like everyone’s mood this week, with warm sunshine.
Finches on the feeder, and, now today, swallows,
congregating in the roses and sometimes, in the trees,
whose buds grew three times in size in the last three days of sun—
Grass growing faster, smelling sweet, a bit sour when mowed—
is it the smell of green?
At lunch, my camera pulls me outside, and I must take pictures—
cows in green fields, against deep blue and green hills, and
clearing river water, still high with last week’s rain and a bit of snowmelt.
The air, not dank, wet and almost metallic with late winter gloom,
but freshly laundered and soaked in sunlight, stirred by bird wings
and filled with bird song and horses whinnying as they romp in the pasture.
Sidewalk chalk on the asphalt says “Stop” and a big child’s sun grins up at me—
even the morning frost on my walk melts away, chased by the
ever earlier rising sun, moving north a bit each morning
bursting into the valley below, sweeping across new cut grass.