Last night, it snowed.
The 15th of April.
When the restaurant patrons
noticed the rain,
falling all day,
had turned from water
to white,
we volleyed off shouts,
raised our fists
and cursed
the swirl outside
the glass.

Yesterday morning,
wrapped lightly
in a quilt on my porch,
I listened to the storm
and watched the sun rise
over gardens
splendid yellow.
Daffodils full height,
bright and open,
offering cheer
after a winter
that seemed interminable.

This morning,
all the sunny blossoms
lay wilted
against rough earth.
I view them
from my closed window
as the heat
once more blows from vents
by my slippered feet.

Such pretty things,
imported from parts foreign
long ago,
still prove unable
to withstand
the capriciousness
of local climate,
regardless of how
entrenched and domesticated
they may appear.


Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 16





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