On the Verge
The sky, deceptively sparkling blue
But the air is crisp like it’s coming off the last snowy mountaintop.
Forsythia buds burst at their seams while waiting for warmth to usher them forth.
Slivers of green emerge on the tips of cold, empty Lilac limbs.
Whimsical soft, silvery catkins dot the Pussy Willow tree.
Buzzards have found their way back and float endlessly on windy currents, anticipating.
While early Robins search nervously in the damp earth for a rare morsel.
Peep Frog songs trill from ponds but then go quiet, not ready to announce your arrival.
Where are you?
The scent of rain in the air proclaims you’re near.
We’re anxiously waiting to welcome you.
Yet, still on the verge of Spring.