by Rick D. Maloy

Drip, drip, trickle, melt

icicles are in retreat,

White fades to gray, to brown, then sprouts green

amid the soft, misty-blue haze of spring.

The air's a blend of dusty, earthy scents

as the land casts off its heavy, rumpled coat,

The Cardinal and Chickadee sing a more hopeful tune

as moods and eyes lift from their dreary doldrums.

The hours increase, as the sun waxes golden

sending gloves and galoshes to their darkened, summer homes,

Yards of matted rye and fescue breathe deep and arise

soon outpacing even the daffodil's reach for the sky.

As the Ides approaches, the overcast cracks

clearing the canvas for Cumulus mounts,

All dreams of white have been answered

and washed away with the raindrops of spring.