Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

I'm not sure this poem is quite right, but out it goes. I keep writing and forgetting to post any of it- today I remember a very beautiful ghost, a YOLO blend of care free and care full. She would be- she is- rolling her eyes, pretending not to love the attention. Fare thee well dear one, wherever you wander you are settled in our hearts xxx

Sunshine and cloud that piles up, up, up in spite of the pushy breeze: treetops bobbing, washing flailing on the line. It is warm behind glass. Croscomias poke up leaves of flaming green, the daffodils are in full voice, celandines and primroses proliferate. Here and there a tulip ventures, and hyacinths trail heavy scent. Blackthorn blossoms, hawthorn comes to leaf. Whether the cold comes back, as it does some years, echoing winter, the earth is awake, daylight hours are stretching and ready for the buzz of pollinators, for the nesting of birds, the bloom and boom of spring.

Daylight is grey light, filtered through yet another damp sky.  I had to drive Mr's car to work due to the back box of the exhaust pipe falling off my car.  It is fixable and no accident occurred so the worst of this could have been the broken radio robbing me of music for my commute, but the wind kindly blew haunting whistles through the roof rack all the way.  Roadside daffodils swayed and bent- they could have been laughing or crying, depending on who was looking.  They wouldn't care.  Neither weather nor mood can change them, they are always daffodils, harbingers of spring.  I am applauding and they are taking a bow.