The miniature bouquets of bluets have arrived,
and the golden dandelions,
and the gift of morning dew on the Lady’s Mantle–a
Mother’s Day communion that I press into my Third Eye.
The ants are here too, building hills right outside my front door,
seeming to claim that spring belongs to us all;
while the woodpecker–the one who drums from deep in the woods–
lends a jungle sound to our Green Mountain home.
That pause in May between
Mud Season and Bug Season,
just before the Campers arrive in their SUV’s to ready Neringa Pond
for a summer of (joyful) Noise.
My boys, still in their beds;
the oldest, just home from college, last night,
looking like my mother as he sleeps,
while his younger brother broadens briskly, taking our breath away.
I prepare a mug of Matcha,
dressed in the Kimono that Peggy passed along,
clad in my new cushioned flip flops,
and follow the sweep of my driveway…
In this moment, beside the still waters,
I can’t imagine how I ever thought
of living Anywhere,