Dialogue with Spring by lin h. orndorf
Her call of concern goes unanswered that evening. Saying her letter has received no reply, she leaves a message for morning. Is everything alright? Are you both well? Give us a call, she says with a slight lilting whine. The slivered moon sinks in the west, Exiting the edge of a void where starlight pin pricks the tightly stretched night. Tiny spring peepers accompany the falling darkness. Cycling around, winter suddenly turns over into spring. I call her back to say we are both fine but busy like mad March hares With paperwork and business trips and life’s general needs. She interrupts twice with asides and what did you say And asks again why we haven’t called. Pale pink blossoms flow along bowed branches dipping to the ground. Once buried alive now racing each other to reach the sun, Tender green shoots and leaves rise up from red clay soil. The perennial resurrection signals the last season’s end. She tells me the new dog Charlie is fitting in nicely with everyone else. She tells me about the new nephew and hopes he’ll be a blessing. Gem the horse is still at boarding school and excelling. She hopes to ride with him soon into the fair hills where trout lilies bloom. I watch stripe-throated sparrows gather up long grass blades, Picking and choosing one at a time, then flying into a hillside cedar tree. Between aromatic evergreen branches, They’ll weave a basket-shaped nest for their brown speckled eggs. I’m reminded that mine is an inconvenient life happening at inopportune times Since my Saturday birth when dad was off work. She says they want to visit in May but sighs about the distance to drive. I try to reply but am interrupted by her insistence she needs to be home for church. I gaze into the scene in the yard outside Where azaleas are blooming and purple iris unfurl their petals on tall slender stalks. Sunlight is flickering in shifting shadow patterns cast by shiny new leaves. Her voice fades away like a bee buzzing off to a distant apple blossom.
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