The purple martins returned

To their spot on the melted river.

The phenology calendar

We keep by the door said they would.

The redwinged blackbirds, too,

Were there, and a lone cormorant.

I was also there for sun

And for the hope wafting in the air.

A stoic seagull sailed over

And circled the scene on patrol

Before veering away

Upstream towards the marina.

Everything leaned toward spring

And its offer of new beginning.

Every bird and beast in that scene,

Myself included (with my cares),

Seemed well aware of what

Opportunity lay at hand

And that the seasonal gift

Must be seized like the reins of a horse

To be ridden out of the dawn

Or lost in the heat of the sun

And the difficulty

Of the long summer days to come.

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