Finally—
the sun warm and golden
new leaves tender on greening branches
the cold winter in my bones ached
the coming of darkness every evening closed my heart
then endless rain, more cold
Why?
And I said I wouldn’t complain.
I wonder less often what purpose my life serves
as I move more slowly—even in the warmth.
becoming the dullness of winter
the fullness of summer.
How vain and small such musings seem to me now!
Two things keep me from sadness:
the small pink, perfect cherry blossoms
each year they appear
fragrant and pure
and
the sun’s arc moving toward a mid-summer sky.
