The new green is amused by raindrops.
How they plop, roll, sit and soak.
One droplet magnifies the leaf veins center.
A star, a circle, coming together and
radiating out with the Sun’s bright energy.
At the garden edges, the volunteer seedlings
grow on their own despite my human
weeding deliberations at order, symmetry and control.
Thankfully not reliably identical to their parents.
Volunteers try modestly to change the world.
Even the new plants in the garden
have had enough of the spring rain.
Winter lingered. True spring passed us by.
Warm, moist, green jumped to May summer.
Brushing rosemary and sage scents the air.
Robins brush their wings against window screens
attacking reflections of their own nesting instincts.
They started nesting in the pine tree
outside the bedroom window under our gaze.
Today, three blue eggs match the sky.