. . . Two pussy willow catkins slipped
through their husks. But just those
teasing few. The next weeks
saw glimpses of more light–
and by March, enough,
until finally this evening, pearls of catkins
illumine the willow’s branches. . .

Excerpt from “Constancy,” by Margaret Krell

Slow rising. Last one up. Charlie, Suzi and I go out. Starting in the yard, I visit the pussy willows that have passed the catkin phase and into my favorite stage of bloom. Almost Easter time. Today, I am working all day and will not swim. So, I go slow; I want pictures and quiet. What I listen to in the woods is simply birdsong, and the calls of many varieties fill my ears. Nearing the end of my walk I break into a slow jog and it starts to lightly rain. Eager to my desk. Everyone in the household knows I need this time. I have the chance to get to some emails, and a lovely conversation with U-Meleni Mhlabo-Adebo, a Zimbabwean/American performance poet who is the feature for the monthly Journal of Expressive Writing Open Mic this Wednesday. She’s an amazing performer, and we had a warm connection. Then, I produced a 3-hour intensive on finding the right form for your poem with Fleda Brown for the Transformative Language Arts Network; and it went so well. I got a poem draft for myself too, from this photo of the pussy willow. Twenty-five years ago tonight I don’t remember what I was doing. I did not know I would go into labor the next morning with my third child, my youngest, my Franci, and that she would be born the next evening. A quarter of a century ago! My pussy willow in bloom.