A blustery March morning
sends cherry blossoms scurrying
off tree limbs,
dancing down the burnished street.
Swirling and dipping,
the flower petals
are ballet dancers performing
to a boisterous etude.
As each gust robs the trees of their spring clothing,
darkening skies tell tall of a storm brewing.
My cheeks glow red against the chilly air
and my fingers grow numb.
A light thermal vest is little comfort
against the cold.
March can be fickle,
reminding us
we are only pieces moved about
on nature’s chessboard.
A Reading Life 
Oh, I’m sorry you’re experiencing the fickleness of March. I love blossomfalls and you had me feeling the numb and cold air. Hopefully, March will turn kinder soon.
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This poem is perfect for the crazy March weather! I wish we had a few blooms here to blow in the wind. Here is hoping April brings us all warmth!
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Pieces on a chessboard- yup! Your imagery is enough to keep me inside today.
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So many phrases stood out to me! nature’s chessboard, As each gust robs the trees of their spring clothing, sends cherry blossoms scurrying. Thank you for sharing the beauty of your words. We are feeling its fickleness in Indiana also!
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“reminding us
we are only pieces moved about
on nature’s chessboard.”
Oh, I loved this section at the end — I wrote a similar piece about my walk today — and this idea of March being a season that hovers between winter and spring is intriguing to me — like it can’t decide. We are kind of stuck in it’s game, aren’t we?
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So much to love about your end of March poem, but I want to call out “As each gust robs the trees of their spring clothing,/darkening skies tell tall of a storm brewing” I don’t know if I want to blush about naked trees, or run to bed and hide underneath the covers based on this ominous warning.
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