Pistachio pudding

Soft spring green substance
Swirls smoothly on my scintillated tongue.
Elusive traces of exotic fragrance
Humble dessert, a hero unsung.

Waiting for words

When the winds come and the leaves fall
I stand under the willows and wait.
And the water rolls past
My seat of green grass
Where I grow words and the hour grows late.

March at the lake with a toddler

Wet clay clinging to your little shoes, making you lift them comically.
Wind snatching at my flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and the tails tied to fit you.
Your little fleece Elmer Fudd hat, firmly velcroed under your chin.
The great blue-green lake, the bright blue sky, and your grey-blue eyes.
One spring chilled nose bright red against a pale young face.
Hands lifted up in balancing straightness, echoing the wideness of your smile.