My Muse

Robins were conceitedly singing this morning

and I was certain I heard May knock at

April's door. In the garden the slightest

of breezes wafted the fragrance of warm

earth as my spade dug into the moist friable

soil. Tulips were blooming and grape

hyacinths and scilla too. The clematis vines

and climbing roses are filling out. The sun

spring rain and warming temperatures

have coaxed the winter-weary garden to

spread the news: time for all perennials to

surface and they are.  Yesterday's rain

has produced miracles of new growth and

today's vibrant sun that warms my back

has promised a spectacular summer of 

luxuriant plant growth. I am planting 

Dahlias in the moistly receptive garden

soil, Asiatic and toad lilies and gladiolas

envisioning my pleasure when they grow

and bloom. My little dogs nuzzle me as I

dig to just the right depth; they are puzzled

to see me doing what they often do. This is 

a perfect spring day, summer not far behind.

But wait: there was no sun today, it has been

heavily overcast, humidity hanging heavily

in the air; I merely embellished an otherwise

perfect day thanks to the imp that's my muse.