May Day

Having woken reluctantly
after thrashing another night away
sweating and fretting for sleep,
there was some compensation
in opening her eyes to such a glorious morning.

The sky blazed new at the window
and the wind whipped up a treat,
dancing around the trees to spray the day
with a confetti of dried blossom in a veil
of scentless potpourri.

The air was a-haze with it,
laying a crisp carpet of petals
to celebrate the coming spring.
The exhilaration held her enthralled
and almost made her want to get up
and join in for a change,

but she was transfixed by the view
and by the sheeshing sound of the wind
shimmying the leaves and bowing 
the waving branches. One hour passed,
then another before she finally fell 
asleep again.

She dreamt that she did get up;
that she dressed and walked by the sea
with the wind in her hair and the salt spray
in her face, waving to the crowd that had gathered
to greet her from her winter slumber.
But she wasn't really there.

She had in fact, been nowhere since the day
that had triggered the need for solitude,
and now she slept as much as possible 
and threw life like dusty handfuls of earth
into a waiting grave.

A butterfly fleeted in 
like hope through an open window
and landed in her dream,
but she slapped it where it rested on her pillow,
crushing its tentative wings
which crumpled, then disintegrated
into feckless disbelief.

And hope was gone.