It takes a moment, an eventual movement to emerge,

late afternoon sun appreciated more in the aftermath

even through clouds, such a simple event.

Serendipitous timing in season of suffering,

storms, no sleep, fatigue keeps me rocking on chair-

watching sunset stretch longer than it should.

Weeping cherry umbrellas blossoms in clusters

like little mini fireworks against tight fuchsia balls of red

bud, hesitant, slowly unfurling. I’m not yet accustomed

to mild weather, didn’t realize how compact within

my sanctuary, my soul has yet to rejoice under

dogwood, launching season, opening pond swept

by storm, landscape shifts—once, now twice. Towering

spindly pines gone, stumps left, crabapple shorn

I know will bloom again, grow back stronger. Season

of uncertainty, beyond my control, taxes

my impatient patience. I’m too old to learn

lessons and still push the impossible, sheer will

like sprouts against soil, emanating hope I do not feel,

instead, I brace against storms, wonder how the garden decides

when too often I’m frozen in indecision, except today.

Everyone takes a collective breath to watch darkness

descend, silence of birds, stillness of air, even as clouds

sweep across sky, as sun hides behind moon. Who could sleep

in such a moment? I long for sleep, my soul unsettled

as the world spins faster. I guess I was too distracted

before. No mistake I’m afraid of heights.

Would rather lie on cold, spring grass and gaze up at the moon,

the day becomes night for a minute I choose to watch.