Windows open this first day of spring
the cool air whispering truths in
a language I cannot puzzle out.
Vernal sky layered with soggy clouds
considers yet another downpour.
On the path I saw one and then another
box turtle coated with mud from a deep sleep.
I long to see the place that kept them safe
all winter, to see their eggs and the
babies hatching out into a place both
strange and somehow familiar before
plodding off into the mystery and
delight of the world already knowing
what to do and how to do it while
I, after sixty years wandering,
continue to stumble bumping
into boulders tripping
over roots and stumps.