PARTICLES to WAVES

Early For Spring

Seems like it happens each winter: I wake
one morning and hear spring. Too much
light in sound, in winged singing
and commotion, a clarity in the air
released from previous melted muting
snow. Focus and intention I’m not yet
ready for, now, early February.
What stirs me most each time I wake
this way is how my reaction startles me –
In April, grasses and flowering weeds
overtaking fields and bare spots
beneath mailboxes will thrill me. Storm
clouds spotlighting citrine branches,
henbit’s royal flush. The last two winters,
at least one day was warm enough
to sunbathe, so, in my fenced yard
I placed my beach towel, books, sunglasses,
first thinking, This is marvelous.
But the yard is zoysia, and winter turns
it a hollow thirsty remnant of gold,
the tree limbs are lonely, dragon-
and damsel-flies are missing, bees
nowhere prowling for buried flowers.
The sun, see, is missing most
of her praisers. The Midwest has taught
me timing; to learn things too early
is the hard way. This too early morning
there is still time to grow into that lit window
before it opens, into this dehydration
that must be quenched before it is thirsty.

-Laura Scheffler Morgan 2-7-18