The song of the mourning doves 
followed me 
as my legs 
carried me 
all about 
and around 
and within 
the bright pink 
and the dull pink 
and the creamy pink 
of the blossoming trees – 
oh, and the deep green grasses 
that seem to have popped up overnight 
and the lovely yellow daffodils 
and the white ones with the yellow noses –  
oh, and the first whiff of the lilac in bloom – 
how glorious it was, 
to be moving through the new life 
of the spaces that hold my hand as I walk on by each day – 
always there 
always welcoming me, 
yet how often do I notice? 
My mind got lost for a moment, 
worrying about my failure to appreciate these spaces 
especially when they are resting 
in the bleakness of winter. 
How dare I not recognize them then, also, 
and applaud their tenacity, 
and respect their need for silence? 
Releasing me from that moment of worry, 
my eyes caught a brown patch 
just beyond the edge of the road 
and I wondered how long it would be 
until the dead leaves of last fall 
would disintegrate 
into the newness of spring. 
I couldn’t help but wish for all signs of death to disappear, 
until that patch of brown 
blinked at me 
focusing my attention away from 
my worries and my wishes
right before she galloped away into the trees, 
exposing her fluffy white tail 
and her sturdiness 
on the edge of this side of winter. 
My heart smiled –
perhaps it’s time I start wearing my glasses when I walk.