It’s a spring day

smelling like worms.

The wind nips my face—

a running day,

a skipping day,

a mud-puddle-jumping day—

a day to climb

to the heights of the gnarled pear tree

and ride its branches like a ship’s mast

into the wind—

an I-can-do-anything day

when I can soar away with the clouds.

I will bottle this day specially

and save it to cheer myself

when the rains come

looking like a flood of landing ducklings

splashing onto the road.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney