Before work I sit beside a pond
where frogs sleep and dragonflies play.
Winter is tipping into spring,
and already French lavender sends out faint tendrils of scent;
purple blossoms flutter up rosemary branches.
This is what we’ve been waiting for,
my hibernating muse and I.
Sun just peeking over a roof touches my forehead
and dapples the rust-red algae
covering the little pond like a velvet coat.
The monarchs are departing, winging their gentle way northward.
Now the sun kisses the page of my notebook,
and daffodils praise the morning light.