Poems From The Porch

Yellow wildflowers in the field
Blooming clover, a dance of white and green
Smiling daisies glowing pink, yellow, and red
Now the oak has sprouted,
and the air is thick with the promise of rain.
The smell of fecund earth mixes with the freshness from the dryer vent.
Everything belongs.
The blue jays are socializing in the trees
— a spring party.
I sense the newness and the invitation to bud,
the seasonal greening of hope.
And suddenly my heart feels it, too,
that inherent connection to all that is.
Of course, there is hope.
Spring always follows winter.
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