Lazy bones is still snoozing

somewhere over the horizon,

comfy and warm

under this blanket of soft grey clouds.

I stand outside with the cats and the dog.

They beat me up, but not by much;

breathing warm and whispering in my ear

they invited me out with them

to enjoy the rain-wet yard.

It is too early for the other houses.

Like the sun they slumber

with their dogs, cats, humans, and hamsters.

If there are whispers,

they are too small.

A huge crow,

sitting alone on the highest roof top,

tears a raspy caw from its throat

and hurls it into the sky

with solemn authority.                   

Then it flies close over us. 

in the thick damp we hear

the whooshing wind

wrapping the flapping wings. 

I have not heard that before.

The deep green of the cedar ripples slightly

in what passes as the breeze,

while the leafless branches of the apple

do not acknowledge the wind                                             

but tremble under the slight weight                                       

of the mockingbirds

who are back (first sighting this Spring!)

to appraise last year's nest,

check out adjacent properties,

watch the cats

skulk through the glistening grass

with their dainty, high stepping deliberate walk,

stopping occasionally                                       

to stare at a front paw,

before shaking the water from it.

The dog comes back to the porch

after snuffling the yard for the smells of night,                          

not caring if her feet are wet.

She'd just as soon go for a morning swim

but the beach takes a car,

(her license does not include driving privileges)

and her pool rests on its side against the garage,

useless and forlorn,

a fallen blue moon

sinking into a green nasturtium sea.

The drowsy sun peeks over the clouds

sending a flood of light into the yard.

The cats come back

and stare, with the dog, at the door,

whispering, "Breakfast..." 

Copyright 2007   Spring            Deborah Bolle