Cracking thunder in the night,

buds breaking

in short bursts of sun.

A bat swoops low overhead

as dawn still dawns.

The springfulness of robins,

a chorus encircling,

and ground squirrels surface, chirp-barking,

sprint across open earth.

Before yesterday’s strange storm–76 degrees–

sap in bodies,

in tree, in human,

was already running hard.

Staying here, leaving here,

no clear way forms..

months in, I am swinging in a swing

straight over the high lip

of the edge.