Last day of the month—
 
among the plum tree’s blossoms
 
two doves rest awhile.

 
 
 

Parting the curtains,
 
the woman across the street
 
spies on her neighbors.

 
 
 

While my plum tree blooms,
 
a dog without a collar
 
sniffs the fire hydrant.

 
 
 

Second week of spring—
 
the tea in my cup stays hot
 
for almost an hour.

 
 
 

Second week of spring—
 
we sip our morning coffee
 
outdoors near the plum.

 
 
 

Early morning rain
 
dashes my plans for a stroll
 
through the neighborhood.

 
 
 

Geese in the flyway,
 
how many days till you reach
 
your spring feeding grounds?

 
 
 

First weekend of spring—
 
my neighbor’s yapping corgi
 
jolts me from my nap.

 
 
 

First weekend of spring—
 
the price at the pump goes up,
 
yet my plum tree blooms.

 
 
 

Cooing and cooing,
 
a mourning dove keeps looking
 
for a place to nest.