The coffee is steamy for once,
and the sun rises through a layer of gray fog
itself invisible but its light apparent.
To do lists fall out of a journal,
and the indoor herb flops over,
too tall to support itself.
This space is a mess.
Do not mind it.
The trees between the driveways are about to bud–
they have whispers of green poking out–
tiny hints of leaves to come.
Do they too reverberate in anticipation?
Do they too quiver with hope?
I think they do.
The Yellow Brick Ave 
we must be AT LEAST a month (probably more) away from this up here in The Northeast Kingdom, but I, too, am ready to at least begin quivering with anticipation. Soon, I hope.
Fine work, Joy. Thanks.
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I may have used the words “about to” and “whispers” a little loosely, given the climate here as well. Thanks for your comment, Ron.
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foamy suds aint duds is they?
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