Spring Poems

Spring Fever
by Carolyn Pinet

They’re back—
I just looked, saw a tail feather
sticking out of the nest
and thought, “There go the robins,
indefatigable, cock-eyed optimists.”
They knew that spot by the back door was,
to put it mildly, iffy,
but here they are, another heady spring,
and drunk on hormones—do birds
have hormones?—
Undaunted by the lessons of the past,
they have built yet another nest,
the female has laid her eggs,
and they await the hatch.

What is it about the Montana spring?
Even the elders among us
feel jaunty and restless
despite dire warnings, troubled times.
Is it that we’ve learned nothing so
are doomed to repeat our missteps,
or is it that, like the robins,
we are wildly disposed
to start over, flit about,
inhale the redolent blossoms
and to love this world?

by H.G. Moser

I’m startled by the goldfinch

A male in breeding plumage
flitting in and out of focus
from alder to wild rosebush

The brilliant yellow of the
tiny bird surreal against the
drab brown of early spring

I suppose there are creatures
out there who would love to
have a goldfinch meal

The bird’s survival lies in
the combination of color
and quickness

A flickering that fuses and
numbs the visual field of
merlin or Cooper’s hawk

Otherwise there would be neither
gold nor finch to startle me
on this cloudy Montana morning