Before Easter

A late March thundershower floats toward me Like a plucked flower Handed over on a walk to a lover With a smile Down this afternoon path That breezes past Spring-born ponds Erupting Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting In a wave of Gnawa music. The surface Puckers Diacritic raindrops Slowly Softly Each plop and their purple ripple Has not enough splash To generate an echo From the reedy shore. The storm not so strong to hide the sun For long To move a wind Or slice the sky with lightning Rolls by with quiet thunder Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms. My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops Cups the mud. This gentle stir Today Seems to awaken and nudge the air Just enough To take His hand Away Sets free The spring Dove From his fist Writes its wings in a mist Changes his mind from Him to Her.