I Am Falling in Love Again in Springtime

A poem for spring days lingering cold and cloudy

Spring stretched and then stayed a cold and cloudy hand over us this year. On days that the sun shone and warmed the air enough to feel like springs of years past, we unraveled in the backyard to sit and lie and sleep in its light.

I am ready for more warmth, more sun, more backyard meals and sleeps, but on a recent cold and cloudy Saturday morning, I grew tender at the magic kicked up by the chill. I almost missed it. In my haste to beg back the warmth, I almost missed it all, but once I gave myself over to it, I saw the magic everywhere, in everyone, and it buoyed me toward goodwill, perhaps even hope.

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I Am Falling in Love Again in Springtime

Two men fly down a hill together,
bicycles pointed toward the north.
The sky gray, the air cold,
the cars pause—a breath held—
until the two whip around the corner and are gone.
At the bus stop, a woman bares
her soft belly to the day’s chill.
Another, on the sidewalk, shelters against it,
her walking mate holding her
coffee while she shrugs on another layer.

We walk in the woods with the dog
where the wild leeks have sprung,
great hordes unfurling through the trees.
Among us, whole families search
between the green for cups and wrappers,
mangled paper and stray plastic.
Their effort sits within the morning like a prayer,
no, a pleading, for tomorrow’s new day.
We walk on, exclaiming over
the narcissi and skunk cabbage,
each discovery stretching into a canopy
that rises to cover and bless our path.