Blown

The day went breezy, soft green oak leaves flicking sunlight as they rustled, and birds veering in flight as though tossed off course by sudden gusts. Spring scents rode the changing drifts of air, bringing hints of the grassy fields beyond the woods. The sudden chill of dusk sent me in to fetch a sweater so I could watch in comfort the sliver of spring's first moon emerge among the thin, lavender clouds beyond the pine branches. The woodpeckers chattered their last calls of the day and the frogs began their nocturnal song. No crickets are chirping yet, though. I'm eager to hear the crickets. It won't really feel like spring until they arrive.

( Sunday Verse )