on the swell of the hill

   arms crossed beneath my head

tall grass, verdant and waving, blue sky,

   white clouds above

that is all there is

~

monarchs pass north to south

   winding their way

through the clearing

   leaves changing, not yet fallen

geese, too, fly north to south

~

flickers, cardinals, bluebirds, juncos

   come for tidbits

i cannot see, or even imagine

   but come they do

to the seemingly barren lawn

~

for you, spring, it just another cycle

   it means nothing

to me it is the river flowing, the metronome winding down

   it is inevitability

so it is, so it goes