On the edge of Spring

On the edge of Spring
The hum of the tree frogs
is background music
when I step barefooted into the softening air and onto the cool stone outside the front door
to watch my old dog limp with determination into the yard,
sniffing for the long gone rabbit who nibbled  on new grass just moments before

On the edge of Spring
Hints of green appear, hopeful nubs on still bare branches that spread from the trunk
and hang over the patio that’s almost ready
to invite evening diners and Sunday morning coffee drinkers who linger over conversation and newspaper

On the edge of Spring
the birds sometimes forget to be quiet at night
so the air outside my window fills with chirps and calls
even though the sky is dark and sunrise is hours away
and I imagine they are too excited about nests and babies, berries  and worms
to wait patiently until daybreak

On the edge of Spring
I rise early and fall into bed later
Not wanting to miss anything
As the earth wakes once again