With the faintest hint of yellow,

The willows speak first.

 

Old familiar birdsong

Erupts with early morning’s frosty light.

 

It is too early!

Fly away back south,

 

Escape the cold and

Snow covered forest.

 

But they don’t listen,

Like rebelling children, they stay.

 

The cold and snow is

Merely an inconvenience.

 

They have no calendar

To tell them of spring,

 

There is no need.

They feel it in the softness of the air.

 

Lengthening daylight and

The changes in the wind

 

Prove their point.

Wordless in their certainty.

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