Trumpets

Nora’s Trumpets

leaf mulch shrouded
brown
from a season
long gone
green
cradled buds
plucked hooded
as she always did
the first yolky trumpets
proclaim her crystal
spring tidings
within our walls

I feel my grandmother in every spring bud. Waiting for her favorites, the Poet's Narcissus I see the world with the eyes of a child guided by her gentle poking, plucking and pandering about all things green. Spring hits my ears with her whispered voice coaxing it along.

We're going to dinner followed by a Story Slam tonight at the little library where we held our wedding reception on New Year's Eve.

For the Record
This day came in with a lovely sunrise that was soon clouded and gray. On and off showers, but warm temps and signs of spring beginning, ever so slowly.

All hands healthy, but one still with her pack of tissues