Yesterday, snow blew down all afternoon, all night
with wind louder than jets,
like freight trains colliding overhead;
and last night the temperature bottomed at 26°F
for an hour or two.
Today it was sunny and 62°F, to make a mowing and pruning Sunday.
But for our transient little turkey clutch,
the proof of spring,
is the mating dance, display full-on.
A couple days ago, before the freeze,
Tom was grazing solo, a little shy,
hoping for a little cracked corn.
Today he’s pumped
but the three hens he brung
have drifted off to clean up under the feeders.
So, all this is for me.
You got your chest fluffed, your back ruff raised,
your wattle blood red, your whole head a rather freaky blue,
wings down, pumping and dragging, the beard atremble,
tail feathers high, wide spread and snappy
all while wings brushing the ground,
gobbble-gobbling sweet nothings.
An’ he could he would perform all these at once.
But he has to settle for two or three
rotating through his display menu.
Meanwhile a mini-Monarch moth,
about an inch each way
has lit to prove spring’s here to stay.
No more frosts, no more freezes,
no more wintery mix.
Just the spring.
April is the cruelest month,
if you don’t know,
ask the blueberry bushes.