The promise of things

 

Pent-up anticipation in the still air,

swollen gray sky, hold my breath,

and they come, first one, then many,

dancing their way down, down,

 soft feathers from a torn puffed blanket.

 In the backyard, oak trees, dark silent giants,

 soon to be wrapped in a white cloud.

I marvel at the promise of things to come,

moment before the rising sun fills up the sky,

silky tones of pink and orange, sooth my heart.

Faint marking of a trail leading to a cliff,

 falling into the ocean abyss,

Forlorn fog- horn before the lighthouse is seen,

 riding up on a cliff.

Spring buds, their soft hues, unimposing,

slushy, earth with merely a promise of flowers,

 in the tiny green sprouts,

soon will explode into lush green, spectacular extravaganza,

The promise of things, the sweet pain of anticipation,

first smile, first word, first love,

my daughters, young women, now wives.

The puzzled look on the face of my grandchild celebrating,

old as time victory of her first step,

unstoppable, ready to take on the world.

And slowing time, the days roll one by one,

               to reveal all this beauty before it is gone.

The promise of things to come,

 the exhilarating, unbearable anticipation,

 so painful, so sweet.