The Baby Daffodils

Last week, all this patch of ground held
was a blanket of last year’s leaves.
Nothing more.  And I can’t tell you
what woke them.  But here they are,
baby daffodils with fat yellow buds
ready to bloom, all full of laughter,
as if they know that they caught you
by surprise.  How do they know
how to do that?  How do any of us
know when and how to slide
from the darkness and show
the world our light?

Diamonds in the Grass

Ice crystals on Leaf

After the frigid night
with its howling winds
and stinging pellets of ice,
the sun rose.  It’s good
to remember that the sun
always rises.  While walking
to the garden to see how
it fared, a glitter of light
caught my eye.  In the hollow
of a leaf, crystals bright
as diamonds gleamed,
a legacy from the storm.
It’s good to remember
that the darkest storms
often leave behind
new light.

Cold Front

Yesterday, flowers; now, snow,
proving once again that the future
is open and independent
of the past. Celebrate
that openness.  Welcome
the cold fronts even as you welcomed
the flowers.  Every bit of it is
a miracle and a wonder.  Change
is the only constant, and the only
reasonable response is to dance.

Welcome Mat

Big Beaver Wetlands

Hear the open waters sing.  See the reeds,
offering shelter for your nests and the trees,
whose bare branches reach up like beacons,
advertising prime real estate for building
your homes.   Sense the safety of this place,
the welcoming ambience of the neighborhood.
Come early; stay late.  We invite you.


Leaf-strewn Footbridge

I almost didn’t see the rustic, leaf-strewn footbridge
crossing the little ravine at the wood’s edge.
But it was so inviting, leading as it did, into the sunlight
that I couldn’t resist walking across it and into the pines.
It reminded me of that moment between breaths
that links this Now to the next, and how there’s always
sunlight up ahead, even when you’ve been walking
through dark and tangled woods.