Mid March

the straggly long forsythia branches have begun to bud

and a step or two behind, the daffodils

have pushed through the soil

clamoring for space

two small rhododendron

the ones the deer love

are still wrapped in their winter burlap

it’s almost time to free them

around the corner

a woodpecker hammers at a tree

and his sound echoes amid

chirps and cheeps and chirring of small birds

it’s been a mild winter

and this afternoon I’m warm enough

with just a light sweater

as I walk to the mailbox

a bright cardinal zips past me

disappears into a chunk of brush

today corona virus was declared an international pandemic

so much has changed

so much has not

                                                            Kate Lydon Varley

Lesson during a Pandemic

I’m taking walks now

every day

circling our house

several times

out the garage door

back past the bleeding heart

in front of the small rhododendron

near the butterfly bush

which is beginning to sprout

tiny leaves

I stop to count a patch of daffodils

four varieties

twenty-five blossoms

altogether in this bed

more buds to open

more still to come

stepping over branches fallen

from towering tulip trees

carefully scanning the ground

I see sprinkles of tiny red flowers

amid the burgeoning green of grass

I wonder

where did they come from?

who planted them?

how can I find out what they are?

why have I never seen them before?

each day there are still more

each day I ponder the mystery

until Thursday

when the shadow of a large bird

interrupts my study of 

tiny red flowers

I look up from the ground

see the turkey buzzard

just visible above the tree

circling over

the branches of our red maple

which is clad in

tiny red flowers

as yet unshed

before this moment

I have looked at that budding maple

glowing red

every single year

and never really seen it

                        Kate Lydon Varley