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.