Sun low on the horizon,

daffodils shimmering,

grape hyacinths opening,

lily leaves pushing through,

yellow forsythia flowing,

swish of pine needles

on the path, chill air 

on my cheek, jingle 

of the leash, the quiet 

of a Sunday morning.

Delicate tendrils of

weeping willows,

white petals of 

Bradford pears,

ripples on the lake,

and the redbud

producing beauty 

off its gnarled branches.

Raucous voice of 

a lone crow, soft

peeps of birds

foraging, the feel

of my foot as it

hits the ground,

rat-a-tat-tat of

a woodpecker

topped off by

the heron who

flew majestically

up as we neared.