A long cold
wet spring,
all drizzle and shiver
after months of bright Argentine sun.

Only a half dozen white stars
appear
on the magnolia this year,

but the cherries are loaded
with buds. Soon,
the huge pink blossoms
of wild rhododendrons
will slowly unfold,

a new iris rise and swell.

Perhaps a summer
will arrive one day
like an old friend,
for a brief stay
on her long journey.

A bluejay passes through
the cedars. Somewhere
a woodpecker
nails a fence of sound
around his land.

Almost as if to answer
the call of spring's first lonely thrush,
the wind picks up
its blue violin.