by Christine Breen
Quickly now comes the garden.
Every Spring the light surprises.
The way it is suddenly here,
and every door and window seems an invitation
into its light.
The day is awake before you.
The birdsong full of urgency.
The air articulate with elaborate intricacies of notes that are both ancient and new.
How quickly it has happened.
You find yourself in the fast green filling of April.
And you feel: you’ve never quite noticed the light like you do right now.
You might just see the buds bloom.
Soon, like arrows of sunlight, in the open doorway of the stone cabin, past the purple shutters, the starlings will soon swoop.