The apricot buds are still closed, but not as tightly. Those most advanced are showing little puffs of color — this, after the entire tree was encased in a thick coating of ice during the ice storm.
The tree and I are cosmic relatives. We are different expressions of the same energy.
Here is a junco, a wren. Clouds. Wind. We all are friends.
Rejoice, the beating of wings, spring is the hat I wear.
February 26, 2021. Afternoon.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Apricots, Clouds, Cosmos, Diaries, Ice, Journals, Juncos, Spring, Wind, Wrens
William Michaelian 