Thirty Years

Coltsfoot flower blooms first like a dandelion with no stalk. It grows in rocks where the sun first heats up the ground.

The bees come, and go their hive in the woods their legs bounded round by yellow coltsfoot pollen— always knowing what’s blooming.

They say her language is simple, but the longer I look the more I see. ~~ I turn thirty this summer, so I look at everything I’ve done. I drug a boulder to the hives to watch bees, and as I watched a squirrel ran past my foot. He stopped to look at me for a long time. Then a patch of light appeared and disappeared on the water in the bay. ~~