Ten weeks I had been housebound.
Then, one evening in April
I could step into the garden.
There had been rain all day,
But now the westering sun
Turned shrubs to costly shows
And bloomed the lawn like grapes.
Spring was late this year,
My birch tree barely covered
With a veil of pale brown catkins.
Somewhere a blackbird practised
A few short fragments of his song.
I lifted up my face
To sniff the freshness,
Like an old hedgehog just emerged
From hibernation.
© The Estate of Dorothy Cowlin 2009–2021. All rights reserved.