Days are lengthening,
seven weeks past the solstice.
Dawn comes earlier each morning.
Dusk settles a little later.
Birds know the meaning of the growing light.
They sing in spite of the still wintry cold,
anticipating warmer days ahead -
of nesting, and hatching, and feeding their young -
from the swelling bounty of spring.
The setting sun casts light rose pastels
onto the silvery wisps of cloud
hanging in the deepening blue sky.
Earth turning away from the sun,
heading toward tomorrow's dawn,
and another chorus of birdsong.
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