for emerald leaves to tidy up their bare-branch homes,
for red-breasted robins to hop-hop-hop across my lawn,
for rivers to swallow up ice chunks and gurgle their song,
for lemon daffodils to yawn and stretch along the garden wall,
for warm rains to come and clean away winter skies,
for earth to slowly thaw into squelchy, squishy mud,
for the barren hills to remember their soft colors…
And then I’ll know it’s spring.
for white skies that drench the pines in white lace,
for laughing children to stick out tongues to catch flakes,
for rivers and lakes to become shiny, polished mirrors,
for darkness to arrive too early in the late afternoon,
for us to leave quiet footprints in snow as white as a cow’s milk,
for the red cardinals and perky chickadees to come to the feeder,
for earth to freeze hard and sleep deeply in the white silence …
And then I’ll know it’s winter.
for bees to buzz busily as they collect fresh nectar,
for dragonflies to skim the creek like graceful acrobats,
for hot, sticky days where the air is thick enough to slice,
for violent thunderstorms that send rivers of rain down the street,
for seashore weekends with wet sand squishing between my toes,
for days when I can just turn off the alarm clock and sleep in,
for sunflowers to wave their heads in the clouds…
and then I’ll know it’s summer.
for sweater and turtleneck weather to arrive,
for trees to don their most beautiful scarlet gowns,
for jack o’ lanterns, candy apples, and trick or treat,
for cool, crisp air that smells of leaves and hints of winter,
for the last trip to the shore to walk on the lonely beach,
for the one day I will get an extra hour of sleep,
for turkey dinners with family and friends,
and then I’ll know it’s autumn.