Looking out my kitchen window,
I see the forsythia, fiery buds that greet me, give my morning a smile;
the magnolia, magnificent blossoms reigning over the yard like an antebellum gown, waiting for a garden party;
my favorite maples, buds furled like tiny baby fingers, clutched while sleeping, still; these will give way to a zillion helicopter wings, toys for children who clatter down the street, running for the ice cream truck;
I see the spruce, stately in her blue gown; standing tall and shading her brood, protectively;
the rhododendron, too, I see, not yet developed; she will come of age next month;
out my kitchen window, the cusp of April's cruelness begins to be washed away by promises of May, when winter's death and spring blood baths, though never erased, shall enter in a new hue, ushering new life, new hope, necessary for our emotional survival.
Copyright © 2007, Kathryn Esplin-Oleski