I've been waiting to hike
you, so I could avoid those puddles.
I could have brought my bike—
still there would have been muddy hurdles.

You are so quiet this spring
even the bluejay perched on a branch of dead leaves
doesn't make a sound to ease my yearning.
Where are the red columbines and lofty green trees?

A little chipmunk scurries around, peeking
at me while a gray rabbit with a bushy cottontail
bounces in the woods, as I spy bushes leafing.
But where are your bountiful May gifts, trail?

Under a trestle, the bellow of bullfrogs
in your pond of yellow crackling rushes,
then all of a sudden I stand agog
as a male rose-breasted grosbeak
enchants me with its vibrant melody today.
So I forget this cloudy, rainy, petulant May.

A former journalist, Cindy Crebbin enjoys writing poems on family, nature, art and life-changing events. Special pastimes of hers are browsing in bookstores and hiking. A resident of Muskego, she facilitates a weekly poetry workshop in Wauwatosa. Crebbin has an MFA in creative writing from Converse College, South Carolina.