By Marianne Bickett, copyright 2011
"Buddha Has Tulip," photo by Brian Belet, copyright 2011
March has arrived Not softly nor meekly But hollering and blustering Plopped down upon the seaside mountains She sits as clouds, giant cotton balls gathering on the horizon Tumbling over the crests with gray pants and a pure white woolen scarf Flung about her broad shoulders She arrives like a queen, Clearing everything in her path March sweeps her wide arms about in front of her Throttling the bows of trees as she announces her presence Loosening any hesitant thought of winter For hers is the coming of buds and blossoms Now peeking out from vacant branches Peep by peep they come, a sprout here, a sprig there Until one morning, as if surprised, every color bursts Every leaf opens and one cannot give but any notion Of what was once bare and empty She comes along and fills us Awakens us bereft of subtly Leaving little doubt that she is Change We can stand and face her Or run for cover From the winds that blow into our lives And leave very little else behind
