Transitions

Transitions

There’s a rustle in the morning—
spring arrives on wind and rain,
March slipping through the doorway,
I hear it calling my name:

You are here again.
In this place of turning seasons,
where the sky can shift its mind

One day, sunlight spills like honey,
the next, a gray hush settles—
cool breezes of the winter kind.

Still, the smallest blooms are waking,
lifting gently through the ground,
tiny proof of patient courage
as I look earnestly around.

I am making my return now—
from the palms,  and ocean’s foam—
Give me just a breath to settle,
to remember this as home.

Through Pacific into Mountain,
then to Central, carried through,
each new hour gently handed back
like a gift, as I entered anew.

Now I’m here, and spring is stirring,
soft new life as it begins,
and I feel that quiet wonder
of my Wisconsin home again