-This poem captures the first truly gentle morning of spring, when the softened air and returning warmth awaken a quiet sense of possibility.
The door opens to a gentler air,
and nothing in it asks for haste,
the cold has thinned, the wind has eased,
the day arrives with open hands.
Along the walk the puddles shine,
the grass lies damp beneath the light,
somewhere a bird begins, then stops,
as if surprised to hear itself.
The windows lift, the curtains stir,
a quiet warmth moves through the rooms,
and every ordinary thing,
seems briefly touched with readiness.
No blossom crowns the branch just yet,
no field has turned completely green,
but in the body, in the breath,
the world feels possible again.