First days of spring
How many poems have been written about you?
Could you count them on all your fingers and toes
finally free from wool socks
or on your highway medians’ flower buds
barely visible from the rolled-down windows of passing cars?

Let me add one more set of words--
images of a Saturday afternoon in April
cats snoring
pressed against sun-dappled window screens
and daffodils adorning
even the smallest patches of earth
between city streets and sidewalks

And most of all
that sublime knowledge
a proof of concept
that bulbs become blossoms
that winter layers will be shed.

The things I thought were dead and rotting
were only dormant for a season.
The chill of winter--which will come back--
fades for now, replaced by milder breezes.

The dull walk to my parked car
a trudge that seemed so long and dreary
is now a brief journey
dotted with colors and  
full of the splendor of living things.