Daffodils and quince, and new black lambs
romping and bleating in the pasture
next to where the two horses just finished their race
taking the warmth of the day in stride.
Creek water noisy under the bridge
whites and silvers and dark blue black
flowing to the sea, but not too fast--
still needing to sing its song below the trees,
below the green pasture.
Air in and out of lungs, smelling good, rich
earthy loam and a bit of sea salt, blown in
by the breeze promising a storm tonight
by the darkening clouds, thickening, wet--
a stray drop falls on my face, the harbinger
of March.
Neal Lemery 2/25/2010
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