When spring is but a promise

When spring is but a promise,

I remember the color of green

and feel the warmth of the sun

reflected in the melting snow.


I hear spring peepers

and imagine tadpoles


on the grassy edges of our pond.


When the last snow falls (is it the last?)

I welcome back the robins

and catch glimpses of opossums

soaking in the sun on their near naked bodies.


When tropical breezes mingle

with the cold air,

I open my windows – briefly

to smell the sun baking on the windowsill.


Soon, I will plant window boxes

with petunias and vines.