Day-glo greens,
emerge from mud browns and grey.
Crisp yellow grass
turn chartreuse, within a day.
Lichens, moss and fluttering moths,
all awake for this season’s stay.
On muddy hillsides, rocks with piney coniferous trees
jig-saw their way up through snow clad peaks.
Following tracks of ridge and vale,
succoured by the mountain’s hidden creeks.
Valley’s bottom; river’s way, pick’s up flow
toward the sea. Fed by melting snows, rain and sleets.
Early season spiders seeking space
to plant their webs, race across my kitchen floor.
Ants barely awake, a nest to build.
Try to enter under the backdoor.
Looking for sugars to feed the queen,
making trails so others may find; their spore.
Ducks, geese and birds of feather, bound for tundra’s summer’s weather;
mud flats, lake’s edge, mountain’s eyrie.
Reclaimed by nature for her summer’s dress, twelve weeks will see it past,
days light start to shorten. As spring’s sweet aria,
of rain. Dwindles into parched land, lazy cloud.
Of summer in July and the land of Columbia.
Holding the Ball 