This Moment in April

Just past the railroad tracks in Unity, Maine,

I hear the peepers sing, and I sit, engine idling,

headlights splicing the darkness,

fatigue and the long drive ahead

dissipating in a single wash of joy

after so much silence.

Winter’s memory fades

as, day after day, crocuses open

and close in syncopation with the sun.

Overhead—tight whirls of red maple,

tiny flowerets of summer’s full-leaf promise.

Along a southern foundation—brilliant dandelion faces.

Amidst tawny autumn lawn—clumps of green grass.

All in brilliant contrast to hills still brushed with winter’s grey.

So much of the in-between in this moment in April.

Even the early bloomers—willows, forsythias and magnolias—

stand at half bloom, awaiting the signal for release.

Months from now, I’ll think back on this moment.

Already, I feel the wistfulness to come.