And so,
March slides easily away
between the trees,
whispering of storm clouds,
sudden frost,
and sunshine on new bloomed wild plums.
She leaves stars of chickweed
in the grass
and dandelions lifting
bright and eager faces to the sky.
She holds the door for April,
who is nudging her way in,
skirts wide and capable,
dotted with dogwood blossoms
and redbud flowers.
There are lilacs in her hair
and violets on her shoes
and lilies in her hands.
We rise to greet her,
hands outstretched in welcome,
turning briefly to wave to March
as she backs away,
having done what she could
with what she had
to bless the land,
to remind us
of the bond between body and soil,
between root and bone,
between bloom and blood.
Thank you,
we wave,
blowing a kiss as April sweeps
across the threshold
and catches us up
in her dance
of emerging.
