A springtime of my own

I gauge the shift from winter to spring

not by the calendar, but

by how many dandelions are on the lawn –

they don’t sprout until they’re safe from frost,

unlike foolhardy daffodils and irises –

and

the budding of the funny tree across the street,

with its spastic branches housing unfurled emerald leaves.

It’s a tentative, subtle change that ramps up fast.

You’ll miss it if you don’t know what to look for.

Training the eye and heart to notice can take years.

I looked outside this morning to see

a spray o...