Only four weeks

since

white covered

every surface

with snow,

ice

mountains called

snow farms

to remove

snow from the streets.

Hint by hint

of color,

shoots of green first,

snow-bells

tiny crocus.

Yellow daffodils,

forsythia,

fairy pink little

tree blossoms.

Now tulips

in bright array.

Two weeks ago,

as I opened my front door,

a hint of flutter.

Oh yes,

my first petite

white butterfly.

In my guide book

described as ghost butterflies,

for me

always

Spirits.

Then in the park,

sitting with my sister,

the second Spirit white.

A week later,

at the beach,

the third.

Today,

waiting for a traffic light to change,

another.

Each time

I pause.

These white

simply colored

butterflies

appear earlier than

the fancy dressed

colored Monarchs.

During Spring and Summer

there are many more.

Later in the Fall,

the last hurrahs,

 on a warm day.

Always, I pause.

Each,

like a prayer of presence

for me.

I am not startled

by their brilliance.

They calm me

into a

prayerful thanks.