The Beginning of Summer
Rain most afternoons now, and the azaleas
A pink and lavender wreckage on the lawn
Like the aftermath
Of some grand celebration. The petals
Our pair of plastic pink flamingos
Held still on stilts
Bedside the birdbath, under the eaten cedar,
While new arrivals
Busy the feeder and thrash in the water:
Cardinal, jay, woodpecker, mourning dove.
They seem ghosted
As you are sometimes by the memory of Jane,
The dead white cat.
First sunset, then twilight, and now a few stars
Adrift in the pines.
All that can returns, as it must, for no reason
What a lovely weekend we're having--after weeks of fog and rain and snow--nature has been tricked into a false spring. It's just gorgeous.