14,272. ON A NICE DAY IN SPRING

ON A NICE DAY IN SPRING

On a nice day like today, I putter. 

I've got reams of things to do. There

aren't enough words for me to say

it. Clean the floor and wash the walls?

Is that enough? I walk down to the

rocks to see what Winter has left: a

few new broken limbs and some dead

raccoon a'rotting. Dried out already;

I'll wait for the skull but after the old

flesh is gone. I haven't yet seen any

fish in the water, nor frogs jumping

away. The peepers are pretty much

gone at night now, and the silence is

something better than that. Each footfall 

I take now is crushing something. All

this new growth seems now so impulsive

to grow. There's nothing I can do about

that, and I wouldn't even if I could.

-

My soul realizes things far before me.

I understand only later, how the lazy

buds unfold. How the bees will find

their pollen. And how little  -  really  -

I know about what's going on.