April

So April slides in at last, promising color and wings. My friend, Alyson, reports on birdsong in Wyoming. My friend, Judy, counts the crocus yards. My father paints a new trellis, clips the clematis down, and waits for the vines to take hold.

I've raked out my garden, where iris has begun to scissor its way skyward, daffodils bloom, lilies mount their assault, sweet William caucus, and an ornamental tree I planted last year demonstrates its enormous faith in neon yellow.

Sometimes at night I go outside and listen to the cracking open of seeds.