Yellow Arrives

I've thought too long and too hard about the ineffable. I've mismanaged the unobtainable. The dog and I walk without the befriended ache, without waiting lifetimes for the sun to pass out of tree shadows. We escort the escaping night back to its doorstep and kiss it sweetly on the cheek because suddenly there are tasks and directions and responsibilities marching in on dawn.

yellow arrives on pine and petal freckles and floor

Night spreads in the spirit like ice building to a walkable thickness. Its dull distance covering everything but what lies overhead. It is not until that lift of light and fissure of day that spills its molten awareness unto every portion of life that one can hear her voice

apart yet a part

Like a miracle or magic, April looks nothing like March. Rebirth and regeneration gains speed so much so that one can hear the daffodils stretching. Today, I heard the daffodils stretching and I knew that you could too.

Traversing spring means mud flakes and waking acorns and fewer paper pigeons carrying the thoughts that will not hibernate. The goose guards the nest and the blackbirds go hard as to not waste any moments on their summer vacation. It is time to arrive. It is time to leave autumn's decay to the worms. It is time to lose hours in the light's whimsy and shadow play, forgetting winter's dayless insistence.

the dog and I the husband and I the kids and I

They who moor my drift of being know not the winter they thaw.