Trumpets of Spring

We walked to town this afternoon, eastward. From roadsides to sidewalks, sometimes on the edges of yards. The cool gray day had a chill. But along our route we spotted the trumpets of spring. The ornamental blossoms, butter yellows, faint whites, clustered in the corners. There, a planned chorus, a subdivided ensemble cultivated for show. Here a forgotten trail, left to flower and spread seed down to the creek. My favorites are the empty green plots, former homesteads now parklike, guarded by the big trees, trimmed in daffodil. Back at home, a couple miles west, our few are beginning to warm up; preparing their fanfare.