I wait for forsythia

There are signs of spring: snow melt, robin return.  The mallard orange feet across the way are brighter.  I wonder if the females are attracted to brighter feet.  I wait for the first yellow spray of forsythia in the back bushes.  Soon.

I peruse the possibility of forsythia

In the back bushes,

Wait for that first trace of yellow.

The scarlet cardinal

Flits through.

The male ducks across the way

Are spring bright:

Heads more green,

Feet more orange.

I wait for forsythia

To show itself bright,

Yellow in the sun.

I will clip enough branches

To blossom
In the new red kitchen.