the crickets are back.
just a few, now
a few early ones
singing
perhaps welcoming 
the others. 
i am 35 
and i wonder if i have 
ever appreciated 
them so much. 
i awoke midday
to a gust of wind 
that blew my door
wide open.
an angry wind,
came in charging,
boisterous as wind is.
then, a calm 
just leaves rustling 
in a distant tree
and the song of a
lone cricket.
an angry gust 
that startled me awake,
i sat straight up
and forced a gasp.
then,
a song i heard once
some years ago.
a song 
after the bitter wind
had left.

all the buds have almost opened
the sun rises early enters my room
when did this happen
i woke one day to spring
i want to taste this day
the early morning sun
the nagging voice that says
you’ve woken me too early
as well as
you are beautiful 

the bird is losing its mind.
it was yesterday, too.
the grass is greener 
and the buds are beginning 
to open.
is it losing its mind
because of spring?
one might wonder. 
i am convinced it is.
for this day.
for this very day.
for this and only this day.
tomorrow maybe the
grass will be even greener
and the buds will have 
exploded into a
psychedelic  tapestry. 
maybe. 
but today it sings.
today is a good day 
to lose one’s mind. 
today;
for this very day —
for this and only this day.

a storm looms
in the west
the setting sun
now barely visible 
a thin strip
caught between night 
and the rolling
gray clouds

what wave could have carried you here?
an old tree twice the length of a telephone pole.
how long did you drift?
now without bark,
polished and smooth from your time at sea.
what storm threw you ashore?
or maybe the hand of god?
it plucked you from the salty waters
placed you gently in a crevasse 
running the length of this stone ledge
those made by glaciers ages ago.
did god take pity on you?
did god think,
‘ok, enough now, go and rest.
let the sun dry you til you’re bleached white.
let the air take the water,
the weight you have carried.
rest here…
rest.