BUDS

The trees outside my window
have been working on their buds.
And it's about time.
All winter,
they've stood there shamelessly naked,
bony brown branches
poking out in all directions.
Stripped, they all looked the same.
Now, as their buds burst into blossoms,
their personalities emerge.
Some have extravagant bunches
of white flowers.
Others are producing
feathery rust-colored stuff,
or petals of pink.
Their shapes emerge as well,
now that there is color to define them —
some short and round,
some tall and oval —
against the bricks and stone.
For a few weeks,
we enjoy this epidemic of color,
this ritual of renewal.
Even we in the city
have our chance to bear witness
to nature's high drama.


© Ellen Azorin