Spring

On a windy day in May, the blossoms of the crabapple tree float onto the patio and into the garden.  I stand.  My eyes open.  I face the tree.  It is the confetti of a fairy tale wedding.  Too, there is the fragrance of the lilacs and the music of the song birds.  And always I say, "Doesn't today makes you forgot that winter is even possible?"  No one replies, except maybe the sun, warm and steady, and the wind, wearing her May face, holding me gently.  

Spring

by Linda Pastan

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms