The sun comes hot and fast
as if Spring is erased.
Ducks splash slapping
their feathers on the water and
fling droplets to the sky
only to have them rain down
into the same pool once again.
The rhythmic motion of
lifting the pitchfork and
swinging it up is a mediation
even as the sweat forms on
the brow and the skin tingles
with the itch of warmth not
felt for months.
Worms rise from the ground
and are snatched up in greedy beaks.
The odor of ammonia permeates the air
compost happens and the duck house
is an oven of microbial activity.
Dog barks echo across the pond
as the dogs bark at their own voices
without recognition. Neighbor dogs
join in until the chorus drowns
out all other noise except that
of the woodpecker busily hammering
away on the oak tree outside my window.
Sprung Spring Fling.
Happy Easter to all.