STIRRINGS

There is a restlessness to Spring

There is impatience

A pacing of the floor

A tapping of the fingers

A watching of the clock

As days grow long.

There is a blinking of the eyes

A giddy green

Erasing memories of

Winter’s chill.

The stomach churns.

The skin itches.

There is a longing to remember

What seems long ago

Forgotten.

An urge to touch soft

Pussy willow fur.

There is a drive to sweep clean

Every crack and crevice

Holding signs

Of winter’s gloom…

A moving of priorities

From inside

Now, to out.

A folding up of

Woolen grays and browns;

All traded for

Crisp pinks and denim blues.

There is a warmer side

To this house now

Where new dreams grow-

Where hope and seedlings stretch

In yellow rays;

Where purple finch

And sparrows

Nest in rolled up awnings,

And shell- armored hatchlings peck,

Impatient on this day,

To make their way

Toward sun.

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