This Spring

 It is the end of March, 

Loam awaiting yet to ether the air

An unexpected swath of squalls 

Yesterday 

Hurt expectant in the spring, 

Lake snows, icy pellets 

White-outted my roads home 

From dealing with my vehicle 

At the dealer dealing with my vehicle. 

Driving, I felt the fury of that weather, 

Intrinsically beautiful, and 

Infuriating. 

As I’d been driving, I was trying to

Process spring, this particular one, 

I’d been searching for 

The sad answer to why the 

Huge limb, stalwart

Of an ornamental pear 

That I watched come down 

In some slow and awful majesty

Barely days ago just had to go.

In the slow motion of the moment, though,

Derecho, precise, I swear, 

It just went through

As I sat watching 

From the conservatory in 

The house with no power. 

I remembered from my growing 

Being keen to heeding warnings, and

Calming, doing best what 

I know how to do, 

Ready as can be, need be, and 

Powerless so bedrock 

Save my own. 

Soon it passed, that wind,

Eleven hours we’d no power. 

I was glad of course when lights came back, 

But I was in the storm. 

Yesterday we walked to the springing

Storm-disheveled back, barn gardens 

In their ancient knowing years appearing, 

And I near-crumpled to the 

Downed tree’s limb, 

Aghast and sorrowing 

When my friend said, 

Look. She’s budding. 

Capture

 On the eighth of March, 

The light, the day changing,  

I didn’t know what to do with myself 

There was snow on the red rooftops of the barns

When I woke early on the morning

And I thought

I need more sleep

And later on the March morning

When I really did wake to the

New day, 

The snow was gone

And in the afternoon

Hovering, the moon rising mysterious 

In the troubled 

Most-blue spring sky 

I was reassured, in my own deep

And my sigh carried me to

As ever and ever 

Shall be