The damp joylessness of first Spring is here
with drooping snowdrops and constant showers
riddling muddy puddles in languages
that can only be translated by ear.
Gray geese bicker about territory,
show off with bluster courting their ladies,
while midges gather armies for attacks
and daffodil stems thrust furiously.
Mold begins to creep up doors and latches
while rust attempts to paint the outdoor grill.
Disorientation disturbs my will.
I worry about welts from diseased ticks.
Despite these awkward considerations,
I’m learning to love light, birdsong chirpings.