shoots pushing up from
dark soil on delicate stems,
spreading solar panel leaves,
opening their designer faces.
New leaves unfurl on every tree,
and Lilacs breath a welcome.
The winds build, bluster and batter.
Waiting, we endure, knowing what
comes after, yearning for the magic.
At last, distant thunder teases,
the air cools and petrichor rises
like a blessing from the earth;
rain, soft as mother's touch, sings
us awake, as from a dream.