Mayday

Mayday

One warm day
and there’s change in the air.
Summer’s tendrils entwine,
developing maypole patterns
in Spring’s retiring landscape.
The trees are proud again,
losing the mourning
of emptiness.
The early promises
in shoot and bud
have begun their ascent
into beauty.
The littered carpet of white
is not frost nor snow
but the breeze released worship
of blossom.
The chill of Easter’s death
makes way for breath,
new life,
and the path to eternity.