Where are the birds?
I sense the sound of birdsong
The blackbird of the morning
But now the cold wind drives everything in its path
Where are the seeds?
I sense them sprouting
Underground, their soft green caps
Untouched by air or sky
Where is the snow?
The snow that blew across the window yesterday
Is gone, a distant memory
While April’s wind releases her winter madness
Is it truly April?
I feel the same as she does,
Wanting to stir the cold ground
And feel the first blossom of my creativity.