sometimes March disappoints, taking
too long to push out the morning chill
letting the cold linger, except at mid-day
when the sky puts on its coat of blue
and the crocuses push through the cold soil
content with the brief warmth
of the noon sun
spring is framed in those first flowers,
in the green of tulips yet to be
and, of course,
the birds know it’s time
the cardinal’s song is changing,
the goldfinches are beginning
to flicker like bright rays of sunlight
through my nectarine tree
today the grass is waking up
greening in patches
like emerald stratus clouds on my lawn
I raked the the spent seed below the feeders
and the breeze against my face
felt gentler, the persistent chill, softer
as if March was sighing into April