Waking, to sunlight streaming
birds singing on the telephone wire
the smell of spring, something warming up, evolving
filters in through the open window
and although I huddle down, cold,
it reminds me of what’s to come –
the joy of spring and summer
the leap out of bed in the morning
with the warm promise of the day ahead.

Spring is in the air, early as it is
daffodils are forming on the banks
yellow buds appearing like promises
bluebell shoots push their way through
the wood floor, through rotting leaves, green shoots
scattered under the bare, blank trees
that form a waiting canvas
their arms outstretched, like skeletons.

Sunlight in through the window
warms my back, my face
the first real warmth of the season –
reminds me that this is what it feels like.

But in the shadows, the cold
still lingers, reminds us that
we’re racing ahead and time,
time is only trying to trick us.