STIRRINGS
There is a restlessness to Spring.
There is impatience-
A pacing of the floor
A tapping of the fingers
A watching of the clock
As days grow long.
There is a blinking of the eyes
At the sight of giddy green
A drive to sweep clean
Every crack and crevice
Holding signs of
Winter gray.
The stomach churns;
The skin itches.
There is a longing
To remember what
Seemed long ago
Forgotten;
An urge to touch
Soft pussy willow fur.
A moving of priorities
From inside,
Now to out.
A folding up
Of wollen grays and browns;
A trading
For crisp cotton pinks and blues.
There is a warmer side
To my house now
Where hope and hyacinth
bask side by side
In butter yellow rays.
Where purple finch and sparrow nest
In rolled up awnings,
And shell armored hatchlings peck,
Impatient on this day
To make their way
Toward April sun.
Sandra Peasley Bush
