an all-day rain —
puddles joining forces
as tulips overflow

mother's stories of
calming my eager father —
too soon to plant

we try one more time
to chase off the raccoon —
yelling in the rain

almost May  —
we join the squirrels in looking
for our buried seeds

migraine weather —
I look in the direction
of the darkest clouds

past the tallest tree
the first swift of the season
curves out and away

light morning rain —
new leaves practicing
how to hold on

give the peonies
a way to hold their heads up  —
the people, too

Earth Day  —
we walk home along the edge
of the coming storm

what was I saying? 
crows reminding each other
how the next line goes

a childless mother
remembers she'll need a plan
that Sunday in May

rescue mission —
I gently move an earthworm
from sidewalk to grass

they don't need us —
we cheer the tulips on
anyway

densely woven songs —
for a few minutes the birds
keep the rain at bay

mid-April magic —
the children of last year's plants
with leaves of their own

Oma used to say
"At my age, when you don't hear back,
you worry."

unstoppable force —
spring pushing all the way out
to the tips of twigs

too far away 
to hear yet, but still there 
ice cream truck

she gives me a tour
of the plants we thought were dead —
buds and tiny leaves

cherry blossoms —
a stream of petals appears
high above my head

I try to gift her
a spark of spring energy —
arm-swinging skip step

rainy spring week —

a blue heron finds a spot

higher up the bank

 

beneath last year's leaves
tiny green shoots
with big ideas

springing back green
just where we pruned the deadwood —
April spirea

out in the daylight
hunting for their new kits —
foxes with tails like flames

cardinals flinging
their songs out over the day —
bragging on nest sites

running on empty
a queen bee flies low
deciding on home

today it felt like
a transgressive treat —
the moon in daylight