The primary colors of tulips brighten my yard.
Grass sprouts between the bricks of the path.
Manic behavior infects the bird life.
They chatter about coupling and food, warmth and territory.
Rivals join the juncos and towhees at the feeder.
Finches and song sparrows visit.
The numbers increase, but everyone gets a turn.
A horde of starlings arrive.
They squabble and bully the smaller birds.
I put the suet cage away.
I spread treats on the trunk of our flowering cherry.
Fat and protein fortify the nesting birds.
It’s a more democratic cafeteria.
There’s room for all.
I walk the waterfront.
Sailboats return to the river.
A regatta plys the current around a buoy marked course.
Like a pod of lost whales, they beach on the sandy shore.
Prevailing westerlies are slow to establish a flow.
East winds push the air of distant prairies through the gorge.
Athletes test the fluky breeze on their kite boards.
A playground throbs with the squeals of toddlers.
Dogs fetch thrown balls.
A solitary boy tugs at the string of his own reluctant kite.
The wind turns and a daylong gale scours the valley.
It steals hats from the unwary and strips fruit trees of blossoms.
Spring sweeps aside winter’s curtain and sings in a major key.
Hibernation is over; it’s time for Hallelujah.
An audio version of this post may be viewed here. Thanks to Rod Salaysay for his rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, played on the ukulele.
The latest numbers are posted in The Drill.