I walk the garden as the last pink streaks fade from the sky,
my faded blue robe drifting below my winter coat.
If the neighbors laugh or disapprove, I do not hear them:
this is my time, my private space.
The world does not enter here.
I look for signs—a bud, a spot of green that was not here yesterday.
Sophie gambols beside me, looking for her own treasures—
a chewy stick, a forgotten toy.
The morning chatter of birds catches her attention, and she rushes off,
trying to join them in flight.
I kneel to brush away leaves from the hellebores,
their blooms too shy to face me.
Nearby, yellow trumpets blare--
Yesterday's lone daffodil bloom is now a dozen waving in the breeze.
Green buds on the lilac,
the first emerging leaves on the hydrangeas,
Hyacinths nestled in their cocoons,
Crocuses—purple, yellow, white . . .
all so small they would go unnoticed in the riot of July.
But in early April they are a source of wonder and delight.
Sophie returns to me, and we make our way back into the house,
content with the promises of spring.
Garden Muse Day is brought to you the first of each month by Carolyn Gail
at Sweet Home and Garden Chicago.