The pussy willow showed its furry catkins
early during a warm February week and
are now covered with heavy March snow.
We want to be optimistic. The universe
sometimes agrees – and sometimes laughs at us.
A sunny April day in late January.
A warming strong wind the past days
erased the remaining snow, dried the ground.
I took tea outside and read new poems.
Buds watching me chuckled over my joy.
Sundial gnomon, or stick in the ground,
reveals its longest shadow to me today.
The sun has drifted south to set.
Now, it will move steadily northward again,
returning for spring to the celestial equator.
I picked apples and the last tomato,
but there are still plenty in stores.
And they will be there all winter,
but my brain and body knows it’s
apple time and some things are ending.
They came to us as early spring,
and like Labor Day beachgoers, they left.
Off to the top of South America,
following the warmth. Snow birds. Senior citizens.
Frequent flyers, amassing miles for next year.