A Thursday so ordinary
I might forget it is another
chance to love this world
until the delicate flowers
of service berry bushes
start to throw their lacy white petals
onto the trail as if I’m a bride
walking the aisle—
and maybe it’s a gift
each time I forget the wonder
of Spring because each time
I remember, I’m remade again
by the simple splendor
of May, how tender the green
of the new aspen leaves,
how urgent the rush of snowmelt
as it pumps through the gorge
with its cold, clear song,
how warm the air playing on my face
like a lover’s hands ever so gently
lifting the veil.