Promises of More

No matter the clouds;
Forsythia glows like sunlight
In my own front yard.

Suddenly lilacs
Apparently from nowhere
Unfold their green buds.

A soft warm Spring breeze
Billows gently up the road
And envelopes me.


A touch of purple
Where before there was only green
Or blankets of white.

Spring's like a baby--
Each day bringing new growing;
Promises of more.









Sawdust in the woods;
Small piles of neatly stacked logs;
Distant truck grinding.










Bright dandelions
Always love to grow in groups;
They are so social.











So many green buds
Even on a dying tree;
No death's dominion.