midway up the hill
the neighbor’s weeping fig
is dressed for spring
a gown of bridal white blossoms
shielding leafless branches.
at the little white house on the summit
pink petals are shyly unfurling
on the Japanese magnolia,
while down the street at the park
the bradford pears are in full flower
and the scent of peppercorns and musk
chokes all who pass by underneath.
in our own wee patch of eden
fuchsia flowerettes star the arms
of the redbuds like anemones
and in the wilderness beyond the pines,
the forsythia is waiting to erupt into sunshine.