The early bird gets to do the weeding

On Tuesday, February 23rd, at 7:12 a.m.
I spotted the first sprig of plant material
emerging from what had been fallow
ground, an announcement that the grey
of winter was about to be buried,
as a Northern Cardinal, its feathers ablaze
in courtship, perched sat on bare redbud
soon to burst into bloom.

And yet I was wary, it was too early
to dismiss a great freeze threatening
budding promise, holding back the
awakening earth from casting off its cloak.

But alas each month for nine, new
above-average temperatures have been set,
the 15-day forecast confirms the shoots,
and blossoms are safe, as I am forced to
turn on the drip lines, I lament the scarcity of rain,
as young scantily clad women already
inhabit the park meadows seeking the sun's
embrace, serenaded by mockingbirds
warning of skin cancer.

Within days I will be bent over trying
to catch the weed intruders that demand
attention and their place in the sun.
My wife insists they've not been invited
to roost, so out they come, buckets of their
corpses destined for the compost's embrace,
where friendly snakes and cute
mice nest in the fermented warmth.

My efforts will be rewarded with lemon
scones, clotted cream and chamomile tea,
enjoyed on the patio with my in charge wife,
who allows 20 minutes between bouts
of bending, reaching, pulling, and stretching,
before it's time for a shower and a nap,
where I dream of penguins in the southern
ocean, who go out to sea to find fish
to regurgitate to their restless young.