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.

[illustration] Illustrated by Shauna Mooney