In the arrival of spring without winter,
I feel I do not deserve
birdsong and sunlight on cheeks
unbitten by frost.
Spring is only spring when
it emerges out of melting icicles
snow evaporating off of crushed grass.
But this year,
Snow never came.
When too-early daffodils emerge,
I wish
in the desert wrongness
for winter.
I grieve for
a snowman never built.
Blossoms bloom.
Petals unfurl towards sunlight.
I rarely notice until
they are almost gone.
Sometimes, I find the blooms
sailing down to the water,
floating and then washed away.
Everything right in the world,
because temporary blossoms
keep coming back.
Their demise
brings fruit and that fruit
brings more blossoms—
years passing into lifetimes.
Heather Hoyt 