Perhaps it's the weather

I am once again restless.
Often I find myself
staring out the window,
fixed on the hosta breaking through damp earth.
I welcome them like long lost friends.
How long has it been since I last looked at you?
Touched you?
Realized your beauty and strength?
You tolerate winter much better
than I do these days
and wait patiently until
it is your season

I push the envelope
realize with each passing year
that time is running short
regret the years I wasted
and the days that passed
without me noticing
even the slightest beauty
or grace.
I watch the robins
frantically gathering
twigs, straw, old string
already planning
to mate and go forward
I snip bits of colored yarn
and place it in my suet feeder
for them to gather
my contribution to spring
and new life
new love

Over a cup of coffee
a friend asks
"How many more springs
do you suppose we have?"
Sigh.
Like Emily Dickinson
I dwell in the possibilities
of what each arriving spring
may bring into my life
and what I leave behind
I refuse to focus on the end
before I have exhausted today.