5.16

Cottonwood mists of blowsy swirl

ghost the ground and ponds

scruffing up along street sides,

an early positioning haze.

Warmth soaks up through flannels,

last try before summer. Neighbors

out for a fragile walk after surgery

keep caps on against the drifting.

Like feathers on the wind the

cotton tells of seasons move

and nature’s own rhythms

despite our distractions.

Too early, the weathercasters

opine. As on time as necessary,

nature replies. On our schedule,

not yours.