The Performance of the Year

Today the sun finally broke through the clouds,

And her warmth pushed through the frost of yesterday,

The blacktop warmed,

And the trees shook with anticipation,

Or perhaps the breeze.

Their branches trembled.

The last of last years leaves have fallen,

They are so bare.

I watch the ground as I walk home from class,

The quad looks destitute, but

Poaceae are known to be impatient.

Small heads are poking through still dormant grass,

Asking if it is time.

Are we there yet?

How much longer?

Not long now. I promise.

The first dandelion blooms the next day

And I smile for the first time in weeks.

I saw a beetle this morning,

Dancing in a field alone.

And the chickadees have started calling “phoebe”

Into the pink of sunrise.

Maybe this world is good.