Looking out from my desk
to the spring field
across the street,
wild grass knee high,
just barely bending with the breeze.
Vines trail up the oaks.
The wildflowers have
started to pop out.
But this year there is more grass,
so they are harder to see.
All too soon road crews will come
to trim everything down to the ground.
Wild grass a fire hazard
not to be allowed.
The whole town will buzz with
weed whackers for weeks.
I’ll be driven from home.
Meanwhile, the bottle brush blooms
are working their way down the tree,
the tip of one just within my view.
The orioles have arrived again,
and as soon as the rest of the
red bristles break free of their
the bright gold oriole flitting
in and out of the tree all day,
is what I’ll see from my desk.
(will be in view.)