It was so warm that I took off my sweatshirt.
The soil was warming and my roses were yawning.
I saw a worm stretching on its little soil bed
Searching with its curled length for the warmth around.

The birds were chirping and whistling in the morning air
I looked closely at the azaleas and there were little flat green specks peeking.
Still, a shovel-length down the cold still clumped the dirt
And there was a frozen thud when I pushed the tool a little too deep.

I poured water into the bird bath – they were calling for that service.
The warmed-up water from the sun-drenched hose freed the little ice patch at the bottom.
It floated around as the water filled and slipped over the edge and fell to break in pieces.
The greening grass seemed far better dressed than the slow brownish blades still sleeping.

Then it started to snow. At first I wondered, "What is that?"
And then the pace picked up and there was no doubt. The thick flakes fluttered extravagantly
Like it didn't matter anymore, what the heck, throw them away, like the last vestiges of something
When the job is done, the time is past, little orphans of another day, the last hurrah, an echo fading away.

I just watched the scene, perhaps like the birds thinking of a springtime bath.
The white snow covered what I had just been doing. My roses seemed surprised and not pleasantly.
The worm turned downward, the shovel handle caught the snowflakes and the hand-warmed shaft melted them and dripped.
In a few minutes everything was white like time traveling backwards. I pulled a few snow-covered weeds and went inside.

04/05/2006

Posted on 04/06/2006
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