We hear about the late ones—
maybe we are the late ones—
but the early ones present
their show-offy selves on dates
that seem too early,

but really, they do this every year,
I remind myself. The Yuletide
camellias appear for Christmas,
and by February, their cousins
hang heavy on the bushes,

making my neck swivel as I drive
by so many other early bloomers
blushing pinks or bursting whites
on branches that just yesterday
looked like barren sticks.

Crabapple blossoms impersonate
mini tutus for tiny ballerinas,
and magnolias emerge saucer-y
white and rosey, while sweet
redbuds cheerfully climb

vertical branches on creekside
trees. And don’t get me started
on almond blossoms exploding
in a torrent of snowy fluff
already, so soon, right on time,

just when we need a deluge
of loveliness, a gush of flourishing
to remind us that this is just
the beginning, that there’s so
much more yet to come.