Hearing knocking on the door is different from knocking on the window
Knocking on the mind is different from knocking on the heart
Woodpecker pecks trees, finch cracks nuts
Stones shine differently in the river, birds sing different songs
Daffodils from the countryside adorned tables
Spring equinox arrived yesterday.
note: A neighbor gave us daffodil buds a few days ago.
A solitary bird in darkening sky
The day before spring
sweet oranges and geese
meeting after a rain
spring sings poetry
note: today celebrates World Poetry Day
inside a room marooned by rain
reading a book
spring sprouts between the shutters
note: I’m finishing a novel, Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel and starting a book, Photo Impressionism and the Subjective Image, by Freeman Patterson and André Gallant.
On some mornings
dreamers and early risers
travel in flames and floating baskets
of hot air balloons
over a landscape of hills
covered in whiteness,
vineyards in early bloom.
Cyclists attired in solemn black
or patches of colors,
dot the roads,
a pilgrimage of solitude
Travelers in their own
separate worlds living
a dream of spring.