Bemused By the Cruelest Month

It's April making its way across the sky as fluffed clouds, April emerging from the green blossoms of the mulberry tree in puffs of pollen, April thrusting from the long stems March coaxed the buried bulbs to release the bright lilies as white as the sunlit clouds. I've seen it all before, but watch as delighted as ever, though sneezing and sniffling all the while.

I can forgive the season its irritations— even the squawking blue jays who wake me before I've done sleeping. At least the winter is now buried under mounds of fallen camellia blossoms. Only when night's chill falls do I remember that snow the ground swallowed which now helps green the grass. Then, as darkness hides the new buds and turns the fresh leaves to black brocade, old thoughts return and I shiver a bit, recalling ghosts.

( Sunday Verse )