An impatient detective looking
for clues to spring’s arrival.
Giving up on the teasing testimony
of daffodils, their bold yellow
faces crying wolf through
winter’s stubborn frosts.
Then stepping out one morning
to find a crew of painters
has swept through in the night,
rolling pinks and purples over bare limbs,
dabbing shades of green on bushes,
redecorating the forsythias
to match the chorus of
I told you so daffodils.
Eyes feasting on this buffet
of fresh colors. Ears opening to
jubilant bird symphonies. A cheer
of “It even smells like spring!”
pedals by. Inviting my nose
to join in the celebration.