Spring on the Beach

It's early spring on the empty beach,
gulls soar on a still-chilly breeze,
the slate sky slides and blends
with the empty endless lake.

The waves are big enough to swoosh
as they end their journey with the wind.
The seamless sand is pitted
with last year's plodding footprints.

It's too warm for heavy coats, too cool
for bare-arm shirts. It's in-between time.
Sweaters and desultory conversation
seem to match the uncertain season.

Small furtive clouds float west
on an invisible current of air, capture
the sun then releases it just in time
for a few more encouraging words.

The soft sand yields to our pressing feet.
Walking is a chore and the cool wind
carries our words towards the green land
where we gather them from the grass.


Flowers and Weeds

The field this spring is wild
with flowers that show
bravely above hardy weeds.

The careless sun feeds
them all and rain rains, soaks
the soil where roots mingle.

Who is to say
which are flowers
and which are weeds?

The farmer doesn't care,
he ploughs them all
to make way for corn.


Fields of old brown grass
soak up the fresh cool rainfall.
Crows sit on a fence.