After the snows melt the little spring
sings a flowing trail across the path.
I sit on a rock beneath the elderberry bushes,
look for the hummingbirds, listen to her sweet song,
and on the softest grassy spot Mel patiently rests,
waiting for signs to leave.
A river once flowed here, before that, an ocean.
Now change happens faster; early daffodils bloomed
and died in March, days warmed, then froze overnight,
and Mel walks in Spirit by my side.
by Carol Toba