We open March windows

not knowing if

bad air comes in

or goes out.

The long down hill

slants wind in our faces.

The spring breeze stirs

as we cycle aside the lock.

On the road home

our breath heavy,


The magnolia buds

break open

discarding gray husks

on the ground like field mice.

Flamingo pink blossoms

nod their heads

in the breeze.

The flamingos fall

soaked by April rain

a scented slippery carpet.

We cannot wash

away the stain.

When we breathe deeply in May,

what novel scent

is masked by lilacs?

Bluebells die of disappointment –

no fairies come to ring.

Kathryn Weidener is a professional storyteller and has been telling tales all her life. Her publishing credits include Schuylkill Valley Dispatches, arielchart.blogspot.com, US1, Hobby Farm Magazine, and Sandpaper. A BA degree in Communication also led her through careers in social work, accounting and ESOL tutoring. She currently resides in Princeton.