Spring must come slowly and quietly
Just a little at at time – tiptoeing on paws across the garden
Maybe it comes with one degree warmer each day
Or in the few extra minutes of the sun rising or setting
I know when we marked our calendar
But when will spring be here
It is when it turns 65 degrees
Is it when I can walk barefoot across the grass
Is it when I can feel the moist soil in my fingers
Is it when the first bulbs bloom
When the daffodil turning its face to the sun
I don’t know this year
Spring is hiding
being shy tiptoeing in on tiny cat paws
oh so slowly and quietly
It is waiting
So I sit and wait as well
watching
I don’t want to miss that moment
when we can truly say
it is spring
_______________
This writing was inspired by a sudden remembering late in the night of Carl Sandburg’s poem. I could not get the phrase “comes on little cat feet” out of my head.
Fog
Words from JL 
I love that! I am also wondering when exactly spring is going to come. So far, it has not even peeked around the corner.
Lovely question poem… full of longing. Although we are not having snow, our spring is very late and very slow, and not at all warm. I think Old Man Winter just won’t give up this year. He’s done this before, you know. Hung on into April with a final whopping storm.
Love your poem! Waiting for Spring in PA, too!
I love the questions you pose in your poem – almost mocking spring! My favorite line is the last: “So I sit and wait as well
watching
I don’t want to miss that moment
when we can truly say
it is spring”
Sitting and waiting in MA, too!
This is beautiful. As we are in the middle of a snowstorm in Wisconsin, I think that I appreciate your poem even more!