March 9th

Out of sheer consideration, the sun rested drowsily
Behind the sloping peaks
Of the Wasatch Mountain range,
So as to not disturb
The morning.
Sleep was evasive as catching a dream,
And time passed slower
Than even its own self,
Everything slowing,
Windless,
Sunless.
Breathless.
A slipper, it's match,
A simple restrictive braid,
Then down-trodden steps
On the time worn carpet.
It all brought me to a window in great
Need of cleaning, all brought me to
Four birds.
Robin,
Stellar's Jay,
Oregon Junco times two,
Hopping across the lawn, sidewalk
Or misshapen rose garden.
Then to another window, where birds
Spread their flight feathers and converged
Over my lawn.
It was winter just two days ago, but
As I heard the birds twittering, their calls
Echoing
Back against the varied landscape,
I knew without a lurking shadow of doubt,
It was finally
Spring.